


Two Sides of the Same Coin

by dettiot



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:19:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 161,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're a spy, there's all kinds of occupational hazards when you work with another spy. For Sarah Walker, though, one mission becomes a life-changing experience. Because working with Charles Carmichael leads to protecting Chuck Bartowski.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And now for something completely different . . . this is a dark, angsty fic with some different twists and turns on canon. You've been warned.

If Sarah Walker gripped the phone receiver any tighter, she just might crush it. And right now, she would have a hard time caring about that.

"I need you to slowly repeat what you just said," Sarah said, her voice cold and hard to hide her shock.

"Agent Larkin has taken a six-month deep cover solo assignment," said the woman on the other end, an assistant in the field agent scheduling office. "If you'd like to leave him a message, he will receive it at the end of his mission."

Sarah gritted her teeth. How dare he? How dare Bryce take a solo assignment without even telling her first? They were partners, damn it!

Admittedly, their partnership over the last six months had been a rocky one. More missions had failed or almost failed than had succeeded, and if there was one thing Bryce couldn't handle, it was failure. And speaking of failure, she couldn't remember the last time they had slept together, in fact. But Bryce knew her in ways that no one else did. They had spent so many days together, being the best at their jobs in the whole CIA. And when they weren't working, they . . .

What did they do? Try as she might, Sarah couldn't remember anything other than sex. Good sex, yes, but still . . . they had gone to fucking Mexico together on vacation, they had to have done something other than sex! But all she could remember was rolling around in a variety of beds and sitting in surveillance vans.

"Agent Walker?"

The assistant's voice prompted Sarah that she hadn't answered the question. "No, no message. Thank you."

Hanging up the phone, Sarah turned away from the bank of secure phones and looked around, taking in the lobby of CIA headquarters. It was bustling in the early morning hours, agents and analysts moving at a fast clip while security guards were stationed discreetly in various locations, watching all the action. She was standing across from the Memorial Wall, dedicated to those CIA personnel who had fallen in the line of duty. The ones that could be acknowledged, that is.

As always, Sarah felt her shoulders straightening when she took in the display. The example of the agents who came before her, the mindset of the men and women she worked with now, it all lead to one thing: country first. Protecting the United States was her highest priority, before furthering her career or dealing with her boyfriend issues-if she could call Bryce a boyfriend.

She was twenty-six years old, a member of the CIA for eight years and a fully-fledged field agent for the last four. In that time, she had traveled all over the world, defeating terrorist plots and destroying dangerous weapon factories and drug fields. Sarah Walker was widely considered one of the best within the Agency, and if Bryce Larkin wanted to work solo, let him. There were plenty of other agents who would want to work with her, and now that she was well-past the need for a handler, she could pick and choose her assignments. It was time to put her power to use and make her own path.

With that mental pep talk, Sarah turned on her heel and crossed the marble floors of the Original Headquarters lobby, heading for the elevator banks. It was time to talk to Langston Graham.

Sarah stepped into the Deputy Director's office on the fifth floor and nodded to the three assistants answering phones and typing on their computers. The one closest to the door, a sharply-featured older woman, gave Sarah a regal nod in return.

"Agent Walker, please be seated and I'll let the deputy director know that you're here."

"Thank you, Anne," Sarah said, taking a seat and crossing her legs. She wondered what assignments might be available right now. She would like to test herself with a solo assignment, something really meaty and independent. But given her mentor's nature, she was doubtful that she would be sent out alone. So she would just have to hope that she wasn't temporarily paired with some cocky James Bond type. She had gotten plenty of that with Bryce.

Within five minutes, Anne gestured for Sarah to step into the inner office. Sarah rose and smoothed down her blazer before walking into the office.

A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows gave a view of suburban Washington sprawl. The office was large enough for a conference table and eight chairs in addition to the large, imposing desk that was in the far corner of the room. It was there that Langston Graham was sitting, glasses perched on his nose as he reviewed a sheaf of folders in front of him. He glanced up and stood, removing his glasses. "Come in, Sarah. Have a seat."

Crossing the room, with its deep carpet and dark paneling, made her feel like she was stepping into a men's club. And after all, wasn't that what the CIA was, to this very day? An old boy's network. But she was determined to not fall into the trap of the young, beautiful agent, seen only as a seductress.

She took a seat in one of the leather chairs in front of Graham's desk, waiting to speak until after he had resumed his seat. "It's good to see you, Director."

"And you, Sarah. Although this visit is a surprise."

"I doubt that," she said, arching an eyebrow. "You would be among the first to know when Agent Larkin took a solo assignment."

He made a small, noncommittal gesture, leaning back in his chair. "I was aware. But up until eight hours ago, you were in Brazil."

Sarah shrugged. "I completed the assignment earlier in the expected completion window instead of later. I came back to Washington, expecting to meet Agent Larkin, only to find he was gone." It took more skill than it should to hide her emotions from coming out in her voice. Not that it really mattered; Graham had always read her better than anyone else. But that didn't mean she should act like some heartbroken girl.

"And now you need a new assignment?" Graham pinned his eyes on her. "You've been in the field for ten weeks, Sarah."

What he wasn't saying was that typical CIA regulations held that every eight weeks of fieldwork required at least four days of leave. Not that most agents took advantage of their leave, and the CIA was not over-eager to compel their best agents to take time off.

"I've worked with Agent Larkin for over a year," Sarah said. "Taking this solo assignment leaves me at loose ends, and I don't want there to be any appearance that he dumped me."

"Personally or professionally?"

She knew that Graham was just voicing what other agents might be thinking, but that didn't mean she had to like it. Lifting her chin, she said firmly. "Professionally. I could give a damn what anyone thinks about the personal relationship I may or may not have had with Agent Larkin. But on a professional level, we were equals and any mistakes made were on both sides."

Graham let out a soft snort and leaned back in his chair. "If I had any doubts about your abilities to handle Agency politics, you've just put my mind at ease, Sarah."

"I've not just been looking pretty the last four years," Sarah said, knowing there was still some tartness in her voice.

"Quite," Graham said, picking up one of the folders on his desk. "Here. Something different: a group of female agents are being formed. Cross-agency: there's a DEA agent and a Secret Service trainee involved. It's temporary, but if the team works out, you could keep working with them in-between more prestigious missions."

Sarah took the folder and glanced over the contents, then looked up at Graham with an arched eyebrow. "More prestigious missions, you say?"

He nodded. "It's time. I will be in touch when the right opportunity presents itself. In the meanwhile, enjoy your time with the C.A.T. Squad."

"Seriously? The team's name is the C.A.T. Squad?"

"Clandestine Attack Team," Graham said, trying to sound stern.

"So it's the Clandestine Attack Team Squad?" Sarah asked, shaking her head. "Tell me again how the CIA isn't full of prepubescent boys masquerading as men?"

"I think that's enough," Graham said, standing and holding his hand out to her.

She grinned at him as she stood up, tucking the folder under her arm. "It's all out of my system now." She gave his hand a firm shake, her momentary teasing fading into seriousness. "Thank you for your confidence, Director."

"Of course, Sarah," he said, his voice deep. "Good luck."

With a nod, Sarah accepted this dismissal and left the office. There was a spring in her step as she headed towards the travel arrangements office. The C.A.T. Squad's other members were currently in Miami, so that was where she needed to be.

She hadn't often worked in teams, so that would be a new challenge for her. And she wasn't sure what to expect from working with three other women. It was rare to ever work with just one woman out in the field, let alone more than one. At least she wouldn't have to worry about being hit on constantly. She wasn't quite ready to deal with some pawing agent, someone who expected a post-mission debriefing that involved literal debriefing.

More than this new team assignment, though, she was excited by the prospect of Graham finally trusting her with real, important missions. Not that her previous assignments hadn't mattered, but this was different. Sarah found herself smiling as she imagined what she could do as lead agent, the person directing the field operations and leading the charge.

It was just a matter of time before she would get that.

XXX

The music in the nightclub throbbed so loudly, it was amazing her vodka tonic wasn't moving across the bar from the soundwaves. Since the walls of the club were open to the balmy Miami air, though, the sound traveled out, spreading towards the beach-and making the volume achieved even more impressive.

Sarah lifted her glass and took a sip, looking around. Dressed in a short, white, tight dress, her hair fluffed and curled and her makeup dark and sultry, she looked like any other woman in the club tonight. Although she liked to think she looked better than most of the women, she thought with a small smirk.

"Hell, Walker, it's too early for you to be already looking like the cat who got the canary," Carina Miller said, joining her from the other end of the bar. She turned and gave a tight-lipped smile to a man at the far end, running her eyes up and down him before saluting with her drink.

"That canary's not your usual type, Miller," Sarah said, sipping her drink again.

Carina snickered and hopped up on a bar stool, fully aware of all the eyes that locked onto her with her movements. "So? His money spends like anyone else's." She set her drink down, stirring it absentmindedly as she looked around. "See anyone you like?"

"Even if all I wanted was a one-night fuck, nope," Sarah said, turning to lean back against the bar. "Where's Zondra and Amy?"

"Over by the DJ booth. I swear, Amy's got ears of steel, being able to stand this noise." Carina eyed Sarah. "The problem with you is, you desperately need a one-night fuck. What's with the prissiness, Sarah? Waiting for Prince Charming to show up and sweep you off your feet?" Carina paused, her expression mostly taunting but with a small amount of sympathy in it. "Or should I say Agent Charming?"

More and more, Sarah was realizing that her relationship with Bryce was a mistake. It marked her as a woman who fooled around with the men she worked with. Even though it had only happened with Bryce, any male agent she had encountered in the four months with the C.A.T. Squad seemed to expect her to fall into bed with him. If Carina hadn't enjoyed sex as much as she did, Sarah was sure she would have been shoved into every seduction job that came their way.

"I'm not waiting for Bryce," Sarah said. "But I'm not gonna make the same mistake twice. When I'm working, I'm not thinking about men."

"Good plan," Carina conceded. She tossed back some of her drink and stood up, smoothing down her own white dress-the C.A.T.s usually wore the same color when they went out, and tonight it was white. "C'mon, let's dance. Make every man here want to get a piece of us."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say no, to remind Carina that they were here with a job to do. Gaez kept giving them the slip and staying one step ahead of them. Their mission tonight was to track Bilbao, Gaez's right hand man, and find out where Gaez was. Getting lost in the music and dancing her ass off, although bound to relieve some stress, wouldn't let her stay focused on the assignment. She was the one who had to keep her eye on the ball. Amy was a ditz, Carina was a wild-card, and Zondra . . . well, there was something about her, something closed-off even for a spy, that made Sarah have a hard time relying on her.

But if they drew some attention to themselves, they would more likely attract the roving eye of Bilbao. And although Carina thought this music was noise, it made Sarah want to move. To close her eyes and dance and forget all the crap missions she'd had since Bryce had left.

"Okay, Carina," Sarah said, draining her glass. "But let's keep it at least relatively clean, okay? We get thrown out of here, we're screwed."

"Oh, if only we would be," Carina said, shimmying a little and grinning.

Sarah couldn't help laughing. Even if Carina was much too ready to throw mission plans out the window and do her own thing, especially when it made her look better, she was definitely interesting to spend time with. And she was a great dancer-perhaps even better than Sarah. Between the two of them, they'd get the job done.

But before she could go any further, she felt a vibration against her hip. Opening her purse, she saw that her cell phone was ringing-and it was Graham.

With a sigh, she held the phone up so Carina could see it, then waved her towards the dance floor. "I'll be back in a minute!" she called out, waiting for Carina's nod before heading towards the open sliding doors that led onto the beach.

She moved far enough away from the club that the music wouldn't be too distracting before answering the phone. "Yes, sir."

"If you can be spared from your current assignment, I have an assignment that would use your talents much more effectively, Sarah."

"Give me the details," Sarah said, kicking off her heels and standing barefoot in the sand.

"It's in Budapest. How's your Hungarian?" Graham sounded cautious. Like he was choosing his words carefully.

"Passable," Sarah said. "Is it a solo op?"

"No, you'll be working with another agent. I know, I know," Graham said, cutting off her objections. "Every assignment, you've had to carry the other agent. You've done all the work and gotten none of the glory. But this one is different. Ryker's experienced. You'll learn a lot about how to run your own op from him."

"Director . . ." Sarah said, trying to gather her thoughts. Trying to find a way to tell her boss that the jobs he kept picking for her were duds and that she should do her own mission selection. But between the vodka tonic swirling in her guts, the noise from the nightclub, and the lack of face-to-face contact, she just didn't know how to proceed. With a sigh, Sarah nodded. "All right. I'll leave for Budapest tonight."

"Excellent," Graham said. "Your mission briefing has been sent to your electronic mail account. Good luck."

"Thank you," Sarah said tiredly before hanging up the phone. Reaching down, she picked up her heels and trudged back to the club, her mind automatically making plans, acting like a CIA agent. But for a moment, she wished she was just a woman out at a club for the night with her girlfriends.

And then she wondered just why she was wishing for a normal life, of all things.

XXX

Throughout her training, Sarah had found that slipping into a cover identity did not come easily to her. It involved a level of acting ability that was beyond her. When it was a short-term assignment, she could handle it. But she knew if and when she was placed in any sort of deep cover mission, she would have to work very hard to maintain her cover.

She found herself thinking about that as she moved through the halls of the CIA's Original Headquarters building, on her way to Graham's office. Because she doubted her face was as blank as she tried to make it, doubted that the anger and annoyance and frustration were completely absent from her eyes.

Because she was done with letting Graham pick her missions. Because he was doing a lousy job of it. And this most recent mission was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Kieran Ryker was an arrogant, misogynistic asshole. He hadn't hit on her, at least. But instead of teaching her more about being agent-in-charge, he had sent her on an off-book mission, made her assassinate a roomful of Hungarian mobsters, all to get his hands on some rich baby. If she hadn't done extra research while dealing with flight delays to Budapest, going beyond the mission briefing to find out more for herself, she would have walked right into the trap.

Sarah knew that it wasn't Graham's fault for how badly it had gone. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to put her foot down. She didn't need a handler and she didn't need a team. She could work solo missions, and if Graham wasn't willing to see it . . .

With a frown, Sarah stepped into the elevator and leaned back against the wall of the car. She blew out a breath. What could she do? Graham wasn't just her mentor-he was her boss. If anyone had the power in this, it was him.

But she was tired of never being the equal of anyone she worked with. Of being treated as an inferior due to being a woman or young or beautiful, when she knew she had the skills and the desire to be better than anyone she had worked with up until this point. Hell, the C.A.T. Squad was the best work partnership she had experienced up to this point, but team assignments weren't exactly a way to distinguish yourself.

"Maybe I should just keep working with them," Sarah said softly under her breath. But she wouldn't give up on her ambition so easily, she knew. It was just her frustration talking.

Straightening up, Sarah smoothed down her clothes and stepped off the elevator. She did her best to tap down her anger and think logically. This meeting was very important and she didn't want to lose her temper.

Gratifyingly, when she stepped into the outer office, Anne immediately stood up. "Go right in, Agent Walker."

She acknowledged Anne with a nod and continued into Graham's inner office. To her surprise, Graham was ensconced in one of the leather armchairs by the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing out at the glittering pinpoints of light in the dark landscape below. When the door closed behind Sarah, he turned his head and gestured for her to join him.

Slowly, Sarah crossed the carpet and dropped down into the chair, sitting on the edge of the seat.

"Your work was crucial in preventing Kieran Ryker from getting away with his plan," Graham said, launching right into business. "You will receive a commendation."

"What happens to Ryker?" Sarah asked, looking out at the view instead of at Graham. Needing a moment to collect her thoughts.

"Officially, he's on leave. Unofficially . . . well, it's hard to keep track of prisoners being moved around," Graham said, a dark note in his voice.

Against her will, Sarah felt herself shiver. Ryker deserved to rot in prison for what he had done-not just to her and to the men she had killed, but for killing that baby girl's parents himself. But if all he would get was being tortured to death in a red op . . . well, that was that.

"I know there was no evidence of Ryker's true nature," Sarah began slowly. "But I think this proves that perhaps you have my best interests too much at heart."

Graham nodded slowly, sipping from the glass in his hand. "I have mentored a few special agents through the years. Ones in which I saw something . . . unusual. Something unique. So far, only two of those agents are still alive. It's likely that I will not find another agent to mentor like that before I retire. Since you are the last, I have . . ."

His voice trailed off. Sarah wondered what he had intended to say. And she wondered what would come next.

The silence increased, pressing down on the room, until Sarah found herself biting her lower lip in a rare display of nerves. Fortunately, Graham spoke before Sarah blundered into a way to move the conversation along.

"You have heard of Agent Charles Carmichael?"

Out of all the subjects Graham could have picked, this was one that Sarah had not anticipated. "Yes, of course," she said, feeling a bit dumbstruck.

"He's the other agent I've mentored that's still alive," Graham said. "In fact, he seems blessed."

Blessed was putting it mildly, Sarah thought. Charles Carmichael was the same age as she, but in his years working for the Agency had quickly become one of the most highly-decorated, well-respected, envied agents ever. She had never met him, but everyone heard the stories about him. Brilliant with a mind made for tactics and strategy, he had never had a mission backfire on him. His success rate was 99.8% and he had gathered more actionable intelligence than dozens of agent teams.

Spies who had worked with Carmichael came away raving about his abilities. Claiming that seeing him in action was eye-opening, life-changing. Sarah had always thought such claims were a bit ridiculous, but perhaps-perhaps this was just what she needed. A chance to see a real spy in action, one that had a reputation for fair dealing and respecting his colleagues. And a man who treated women as equals. That is, if that was what Graham was hinting at . . .

"And he has a mission that you could be most useful on." He paused and turned to look at her. "After you complete this mission, which I will see as a favor to me, you can select your own assignments. Clearly, I've been holding you back."

Such an admission made any remaining anger drain out of Sarah. Grasping that all this time, Graham was attempting to look out for her and protect her, made her heart soften a little. Certainly there was almost no one who wanted to take care of her like that. And although it was misplaced, coming from her boss, she didn't want to deny how important he had been to her as a mentor.

"I've always been grateful for the opportunities you've given me, Director," Sarah said quietly. "And I will continue to see you as a mentor."

Graham's face, usually so hard and set, might have relaxed for a moment. Or it could be a trick of the darkened room.

Instead of saying anything else, he rose and walked over to his desk, coming back with a file folder. "You'll meet Agent Carmichael at H Street Country Club tomorrow night at eight."

Sarah blinked. "Excuse me?" Had Graham really just said she'd meet her new co-worker at someplace on H Street, which was practically the hinterlands of D.C.?

"Carmichael has his own routine for agents he's going to work with. As much as possible, he prefers to have drinks first, get to know them. So you'll meet him there around eight. I believe the restaurant serves Mexican." Graham looked at her, then handed her the file folder. "His methods seem to work, though. I would recommend having an open mind."

"All right," Sarah said, standing up. "Thank you, Director. Have a good evening."

He nodded to her. "Good luck, Agent Walker."

It didn't miss her notice that he called her Agent Walker and not Sarah. But she wasn't about to comment on it. So she gave him a small smile and left the office.

After all, she had a lot of research to do before meeting Charles Carmichael tomorrow night.

XXX

It was just after eight o'clock when Sarah stepped into the H Street Country Club. She hadn't anticipated having so much trouble finding a parking spot, or she would have been early as she would have preferred. Looking around, she took in the oddly quirky place. A long bar stretched along one side of the long, narrow room. A staircase opposite the bar led upstairs, probably to a dining room.

At least her jeans and somewhat low-cut blue top would fit in here. Her boot heels thumped softly against the floor as she stepped further into the room. They were meeting for drinks, so Sarah looked along the bar. About halfway down, sitting on a high-backed bar stool, was a man who matched the photo clipped to the papers in the folder Graham had given her.

In the picture, Charles Carmichael had a set to his jaw, a determination in his gaze. Everything about him screamed no-nonsense, all-business spy. His hair was dark and apparently curly, although the curls seemed tamed by product. His eyes were deep and brown, and it might be her imagination, but she sensed a spark of humor in them. His stats listed him as six foot four and 190 pounds, which implied a tall, lean man.

The Carmichael who was sitting at the bar was dressed in happy hour casual. His blue dress shirt sleeves were rolled up and his top button was undone; one foot, in a black dress oxford, was propped up on the foot rail of the bar. A black jacket, which matched his trousers, was hung over the back of his stool.

As she approached, she got a better look at him. It looked like he hadn't shaved for a day or so, stubble darkening his jaw. His long fingers were tapping against his bottle of Dos Equis in time with the music playing. And his hair looked rumpled, like he had been running his hands through it.

Before she could say anything, he turned his head and looked straight at her. For just a moment, his eyes widened, then he grinned a little. "Walker, I presume?"

Something about that grin made her feel a bit off-kilter. Like her expectations were getting thrown out the window and she was flying blind.

Sarah did her best to hide her reaction, taking the seat next to him. "That's me. And you're Carmichael."

"It's what it says on my badge. What's your poison?"

Picking up the bar menu, Sarah ran her eyes over the list of drinks, then looked at the waiting bartender. "Skinny margarita, please."

Carmichael leaned over her shoulder a little to read the menu. "Tequila and lime juice. Nothing like keeping it simple."

Was invading her space part of his out-of-the-box techniques? Sarah carefully set down the menu, trying not to let her discomfort show. Fortunately, he moved back before she had to shift away.

"So . . . I don't think I've ever had drinks with someone before I've worked with them. Afterwards? It's happened." She hoped that making a bit of a joke about her supposed reputation would dispel any awkwardness-and any ideas he might have.

"It's something I came up with a few years ago. I don't tend to work more than one mission with anyone, so developing a rapport is tricky. Getting drinks or a meal together gives us both a chance to get to know each other. Makes working together go a bit smoother." Carmichael sipped his beer and looked at her. "It's nice to finally meet you. Graham's talked about you occasionally."

The bartender set down her margarita, then placed a basket of chips and salsa between them. Sarah tasted her drink before replying. "And everyone knows you."

"Yeah," Carmichael said, dipping a chip into the salsa and popping it into his mouth. "They think so."

That was a bit of an odd response. She eyed him as he ate some more chips. He was the golden boy of the CIA. He should be an arrogant asshole. But instead, he seemed . . . diffident. Like he didn't care what people said about him.

Rather than keep drinking on an empty stomach, Sarah took a chip and tried the salsa. "Mmm. That's good."

"It's got a good kick," Carmichael agreed. "Reminds me of the salsas I've gotten in Mexico."

"Me, too," Sarah replied, trying not to think about that vacation in Cabo with Bryce. "Is that why you made us trek out here to H Street? For good salsa?"

Carmichael laughed softly. "Yeah, yeah, I know H Street is still off the beaten path. Crazy, isn't it? You can live someplace for years and not know it, but I know places like Ankara as well as the back of my hand."

She thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "I spend more time outside of Washington than in it. And when I'm here, I'm not exactly sightseeing."

"See, that was the first thing I did when I moved here. Got familiar with the whole city." He shrugged. "You never know when something might happen. And it'd be pretty lame to not know your own city."

Of course he had. Sarah took a sip of her margarita, hoping it hid her sour expression. So maybe he wasn't an arrogant asshole. But there seemed to be a strongly defined know-it-all streak in Charles Carmichael.

"You often think about being attacked on American soil?" Sarah asked, looking straight at him. "Sounds like you've let your imagination run away with you."

His rich brown eyes locked with hers. "Just being prepared. If it's good enough for the Boy Scouts, it's good enough for me."

Perhaps it was time to change the subject. Move to the topic of the mission. Because this was feeling strange. This whole conversation might be about building rapport for the mission, but it was a little too close to feeling like a first date.

She crossed her legs and ate a salsa-loaded chip. "So we're off to the Dominican Republic tomorrow?"

Lifting his bottle, Carmichael finished off his beer before nodding. "Yeah. Your experience with the Secret Service will come in handy."

"President Fernandez suspects radical Trujillo-era terrorists of wanting to overthrow his government?" Sarah asked, referring to the information that Graham had given her yesterday.

"So we're going in to protect him for a few days. See what we can find out. It appears these terrorists are being funded by Dominicans who are here in the United States." Carmichael's voice was low, causing her to lean in a little towards him. When she did, she got a whiff of a fresh, clean scent. Some kind of cologne, she guessed. It was a good smell.

"A bit paradoxical, since so many people left the country because of Trujillo," Sarah said, propping her chin up on her hand. To outsiders, they might look like a couple getting closer. Finding an unexpected connection. And that was a good impression, because it made any onlookers less likely to interrupt or intrude on them.

Giving her head a small shake, she focused on what Carmichael had to say.

"Paradoxical is an understatement. I have my doubts on the whole story," Carmichael said. "I think we're gonna find something very different when we arrive."

"I guess we'll see," Sarah said, finishing her margarita. She leaned back, reaching for her purse.

"Leaving, huh?" Carmichael said. "No interest in dinner?"

Sarah hesitated for a moment, then shook her head and gave him an apologetic smile. "I still have a few things to wrap up before we leave. Another time, maybe."

"Your loss," Carmichael said lightly. "There's an indoor mini golf course upstairs, and I'm lousy at it. You could have won easily."

"Tempting," Sarah said, pulling out her wallet.

Carmichael's hand suddenly covered hers. "I've got this." His fingers were warm and soft-not at all what she had expected. He pulled his hand away and stood up, gesturing to the bartender as he pulled out some cash. "I'll see you tomorrow, Walker."

When she stood up, she made sure to steady herself for a moment. "Have a good night, Carmichael. Enjoy the mini golf."

A soft chuckle escaped him and he gave her a small salute. She found herself giving him a quick smile before she turned and walked out.

If meeting Charles Carmichael was supposed to make working together easier, Sarah wasn't sure about that. Because the half hour with him had given her enough questions to keep her up tonight. Not that she'd let that happen. She needed sleep before the mission started, and staying up all night thinking about a guy was behavior better suited for a teenage girl. Not an accomplished woman who was also an agent for the CIA.

But she definitely had high hopes for this mission now.

XXX

As bullets whizzed past her head, Sarah peeked over the half-wall that was her cover, then slumped back down and checked her gun. "Tell me again how this was supposed to go?"

Carmichael grimaced as he checked his tranq gun-and seriously, a tranq gun? What agent didn't have a real gun as his sidearm? Sarah grimaced. Charles Carmichael really was too smart for his own good. Strolling into this kind of mission without even bringing a gun? Who did that?

Blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes, Sarah tried to stay focused. If they were going to get out of this, spending valuable time blaming Carmichael for what was happening wouldn't help.

Things had started well. When they had landed in Santo Domingo, CIA contacts had gotten them into the Presidential residence: Sarah as a security officer and Carmichael in the kitchens. Over the first few days, they had met in hidden corners to update each other. All that she had heard about Carmichael seemed to be accurate: he was definitely brilliant, definitely on the pacifist side, and definitely saw her as an equal. If nothing else, the fact that he had arranged their positions, and put himself in the kitchen, spoke to that.

Feeling like they were on the same side, that he wasn't trying to cut her off at the knees, let her work better. It hadn't taken long for them to gather clear evidence that there was no terrorist plot. The rumors about a new Trujillo taking over the government were to distract everyone from a massive web of corruption, one that included President Fernandez.

It should have been simple. Find a few people implicated in the corruption, lean on them until they gave up the ringleaders, then take out the head of the pyramid. Best of all, most of that could be handled by the local government, not them. Because this was an internal Dominican matter, something that certainly didn't require the CIA and its best agents.

But that was much too simple for Carmichael. And now, here they were, getting shot at.

"We've got to get out from under fire!" Carmichael yelled over the bullets. "Follow me." He scooted over the ground like a crab, heading towards one wing of the Presidential mansion.

Sarah tucked her gun into the waistband of her pants and followed him, ducking when a bullet that hit a palm tree sent splinters flying past her. Carmichael glanced back, his eyes asking if she was all right. She nodded and continued crawling, catching up with him as they reached a set of double doors.

He grabbed the doorknob and turned it, then groaned. Sarah yanked out her gun and started providing cover as Carmichael picked the lock. Within twenty seconds, he had the door open and they were both inside. Safe, for the moment.

"Tell me again why uncovering a giant internal scandal isn't enough for you?" Sarah said, running her hands through her hair and removing debris.

"Because it's not just about the corruption," Carmichael said, breathing hard. "Fernandez is trying to get in good with Alejandro Goya, so he's letting supplies for Costa Gravas get shipped through the DR, to avoid the UN blockade."

Was he just making this stuff up, Sarah wondered. Because finding a connection between the Dominican Republic, a country with a long democratic history, albeit full of bribery and blackmail, and the isolated Communist country of Costa Gravas was a real stretch.

"That makes no sense-why would Fernandez care about Goya or Costa Gravas?" she said, digging in her pocket for a full mag.

"Because with Costa Gravas to help, Fernandez can lay the groundwork for Haiti to be swallowed up by the Dominican Republic."

All right, that kind of made sense. Two countries sharing one island, one incredibly poor and one enjoying the fruits of a booming tourist economy . . .

Sarah looked at him. "You're sure about this?" For some reason, she found herself searching his face, seeking some kind of reassurance that what he said was true.

He nodded and opened his mouth to speak, only for a loud thud and splintering wood making them realize that they weren't safe here any longer.

"C'mon," Carmichael said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. "I've got proof. We just have to get out of here, so the documents can go to the UN."

"That's the last thing Fernandez is going to want to happen," Sarah pointed out, shaking loose of his grip and holding her gun at the ready.

"So we'll have to be sneaky like spies," Carmichael said, giving her a tight smile.

"Funny," Sarah said, peeking around a corner. "If we go down this hall, we'll be close to the President's parking garage. Get a car and get to the airport. Simple."

"All your plans are simple," Carmichael said, finally drawing his tranq gun. "Did you sell your soul to Occam?"

"When you're thinking on the fly, simple is best. With a healthy dose of brute force on the side," Sarah said, glancing at him. She took one step forward, only to be suddenly yanked back and into a dark room. And then she had six feet, four inches of warm male pressed up against her.

"What the fuck!" Sarah hissed, pushing against him.

"You were about to get your head blown off!" Carmichael said, his voice low and hard. "That's why simple brute force doesn't work. The rooms in this wing are all interconnected-which gives us cover. So let the sweep pass and then we can just walk through the rooms to the garage."

Sarah did her best to glare at him, even as she felt a rush of embarrassment. She knew that-she knew that this side of the mansion, built in the colonial period, had retained the French architectural style with rooms connected to each other. She should have thought of that. Even now, she could hear the sound of heavy boots treading along the corridor she had been about to turn down.

Damn the man. She would have to admit she was wrong later. If they both survived this. And she really hated having to eat crow.

Wait a minute. Just why was he pressed up against her still? Not that she was necessarily complaining, but-oh, hell, neither was he. Not with what she was feeling.

Her eyes had adjusted enough so that she could make out his face. Rather than say anything, she slowly rolled her hips.

He let out a little gasp, his eyes almost crossing, and then he stepped away from her, turning so that he faced away from her.

Taking advantage of his focus being on fixing his little problem, Sarah closed her eyes for a moment. It was a good thing that tall, lean, muscled men with enormous brains weren't her type at all. Nope. Not in the slightest.

"I think we can start moving," Sarah said, keeping her voice barely above a whisper.

Carmichael nodded and headed over to a set of French doors. She noticed that he was very carefully not looking at her. Like he was embarrassed. Seeing the great Charles Carmichael brought down to a human level was . . . odd. Odd and strangely compelling.

Sarah shook her head and followed him, leading with her gun as they moved through the rooms. Carmichael set a pace that balanced silence with speed, just like she would in this situation. Fortunately, this side of the mansion was rarely used, so the rooms were mostly empty of furniture, preventing any unfortunate noisy collisions.

Within ten minutes, they were in the garage. Sarah made a beeline for one of the heavily-armored Mercedes that President Fernandez favored. Carmichael stopped her. "No, too conspicuous. Let's take the convertible."

He had a point, but Sarah's hackles were raised by his peremptory nature. Because he wasn't asking her if they should take the convertible-he was telling her. "You think a convertible is less conspicuous? Especially when there are orders to shoot us?"

"Yeah," Carmichael said, going over to a door by the one they had come through into the garage. "Because in this closet, I've got a bag of disguises for us, so we'll just look like some rich tourist couple once we're off the mansion's grounds." He looked over at her as he picked the lock, then shrugged. "I plan for contingencies. Also, I apologize in advance."

"Shouldn't you be apologizing for what happened back in that room?" Sarah said, moving over to the convertible to hotwire it, feeling yet again that mixture of annoyance and awe at being out-thought by him.

"That was just biology," Carmichael said, his voice a bit distracted as he worked on the lock. "This? This could be seen as malice aforethought."

Sarah yanked open the convertible door and bent underneath the wheel, feeling around for the ignition wires. It took her a few minutes to get the car started-she really wished she had paid more attention, those times her father had tried to teach her how to hotwire a car. By the time the little Italian sports car's engines were purring, Carmichael was back, wearing white linen trousers and an unbuttoned blue-and-white tropical print shirt. He ruffled his hair, the natural curl coming out in the humid conditions. With his ever-present stubble, he certainly fit the part of a tourist.

"Clothes and wig are in the closet," he said, sliding behind the wheel.

Without any delay, she dashed over and took care of the wig first, a short black bob. Then she looked at the clothes and groaned. Now she knew what he meant, because all that there was for her to wear was a skimpy blue bikini, a denim miniskirt, and a pair of flip-flops.

She quickly wiggled into the clothes, purposely not thinking about Carmichael's fashion choices and what they might mean in the context of that dark room. Grabbing her gun, she hurried back to the car and got in the passenger seat.

As soon as her ass hit the seat, Carmichael gunned the car and drove out of the garage. Sarah slid down in the seat, her gun held in her hands and sweeping her eyes for any gunmen. "You think we can get away?" she asked, glancing over at him.

"Ask me when we get to the airport," he said, his jaw tight. His tranq gun was in his lap. He seemed more anxious now than at any point before, which Sarah understood.

After a few moments, though, she slowly uncoiled herself and sat up straight, settling her gun by her side and somewhat out of sight. They were entering the heart of Santo Domingo's historical district, and although traffic was heavy, Carmichael kept them moving. When he turned the car onto a eastbound highway, she looked at him curiously.

"We're not flying back out through La Isabela?" she asked, referring to the charter airport through which they had entered the Dominican Republic.

Carmichael shook his head. "I thought we'd have better luck if we took a commercial flight from Las Américas."

"Makes sense," Sarah admitted.

He glanced over at her. "I think that's the first time you've just accepted a decision I've made, Walker."

It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that she had accepted the clothes she was currently wearing, but something made her hold back. Had she been that argumentative? She searched her memory as they covered the fifteen kilometers to the airport.

There was just something about watching him work, seeing his mind make these huge leaps and connect the dots that made her feel . . . small. Inadequate. Sarah knew she was a good agent and perhaps could be a great one. But Carmichael was the full package, his reliance on tranq guns notwithstanding. And he had made her better. Made her open her mind more than she ever had on a mission. She already knew that her next job, she'd reconsider her "simple" mantra, take more care in setting up the operation so it didn't devolve into a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants affair.

Graham had been right. Carmichael wasn't by the book, but he certainly got the job done flawlessly. This mission had been on the verge of going very wrong and he had made it go right.

Turning in her seat, she looked at Carmichael. Really looked at him. He flicked his eyes towards her, sensing her gaze, but then faced forward again, letting her look.

"I know I'm not attractive enough to merit this much staring," he said after a few moments, his voice studiously casual. Like he wanted to make his words a joke, yet didn't at the same time.

"I can see why you don't work more than once with most agents," Sarah said. "It's humbling, working with someone so much better than you are."

He glanced at her for a long moment before looking back at the road. "You're not the first person to point that out to me. But if the other option is to not do my job to the best of my abilities . . ." He shrugged. "Not gonna happen."

Sarah nodded. "Still, it must suck."

Letting out a soft, bitter laugh, Carmichael turned the wheel, exiting the highway at the airport. "You have no idea."

XXX

The life of a spy was not one of glamorous jet-setting, staying in luxury hotels and eating and drinking the finest food and drink.

Tonight proved that.

Sarah looked around the small room, her nose wrinkling slightly. The lashing rain, the reason they were in this airport hotel instead of on a plane, drummed loudly against the single-paned window. The air conditioning unit clanked and wheezed, putting out a lukewarm breeze. The small double bed was covered in a dingy floral spread and the carpet looked like it needed just one more stain to be a Jackson Pollock painting.

Carmichael, standing next to her, sighed. "Nice to see the government dollar gets us so much," he said, giving her a lopsided smile.

"Some things never change," Sarah said, walking into the room and setting down the plastic bag she was carrying and taking off the black wig. She had bought two t-shirts at the airport, since she wasn't about to fly home wearing just a bikini and a miniskirt. Along with the toiletries she had picked up, she'd be decent for tomorrow's flight.

"We're on the first flight to D.C. tomorrow," Carmichael said, taking a seat on the bed and leaning back on his hands. "Should be back there by noon."

She nodded, rummaging in her bag. "Good. I suppose we'll go right to headquarters to debrief?"

"Yeah . . . hey, feel free to take the first shower. In this place, I think we'll be lucky if one of us gets a hot shower, and you deserve it."

There was something about his voice that made Sarah stop and look at him, narrowing her eyes. "Do I?"

"You made it through a mission with Charles Carmichael without wounding him. So your reward is a hot shower," he said glibly.

Turning to face him, one of the t-shirts in her hand, she folded her arms over her chest. "You know, just because I said it was humbling working with you didn't mean it was like getting tortured by Al-Qaeda."

Carmichael looked at her, then arched an eyebrow. "Really."

"Yeah, really," she said, straightening her back to reach her full height. "I can think of worse things than having to work with you again."

For a split second, so fast that she thought she might have imagined it, a pure, happy grin flashed across his face. But then it was gone and his blasé mask was back in place. "Working with you again wouldn't be so bad, either."

"Don't gush so much, Carmichael. You're making me blush," she said with a grin. She made a small gesture with her t-shirt. "I'm going to shower now."

She didn't wait for a reply, just turned and stepped into the small bathroom. Once the door was closed behind her, Sarah felt the tension seep out of her, letting her lean back against the door.

What was it about him that made her feel like she had to be on her toes all the time? Like they were squaring off for a fight, one that could change everything. She could understand feeling this way during the mission, but the job was done now-yet the coiled spring of anticipation and challenge and pleasure was still there. There was no way to anticipate him, but when she lobbed a response back to his latest verbal ploy, one that hit the mark or made him off-balance, she got the sense that he liked her.

And clearly, she was going a little bit crazy.

Running a hand through her hair, Sarah pushed off from the door and got undressed. She started the shower and hopped underneath the weak spray, which at least was in the same neighborhood as hot. Closing her eyes, she leaned into the water and tried to not think about Charles Carmichael.

End, Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

When she stepped out of the bathroom, she found Carmichael stretched out on the bed, on top of the faded coverlet. He had kicked off his sandals, but was still wearing his white trousers and Hawaiian print shirt, although he had buttoned it up at some point.

And he was fast asleep.

Well, she was glad she had spent all that time in the bathroom, feeling self-conscious about coming out in just her t-shirt and bikini bottoms, Sarah thought wryly.

Setting aside her clothes and toiletries, she wondered if she should just let him sleep, or if he would want a shower. Then, with a shrug, she walked over and leaned down. "Carmichael?"

He didn't even twitch. "Charles?" she tried again, thinking for a moment that he didn't seem like a Charles. Then she reached out and gently shook his shoulder.

A hand latched around her wrist, pulling her off her feet and over him. Sarah landed on the bed hard, the air whooshing out of her lungs from the impact and from having Carmichael press her down against the mattress.

"Carmichael!" she said, as loudly as she could with barely any air. "Charles, stop!"

A sleepy blink was all she got, and then she felt his body tense as he finally woke up all the way. "Oh, shit," he said, rolling off her like she was on fire.

It took her a moment to sit up. Why did he seem to want to keep pressing her up against the nearest solid surface? If he wanted sex, this was the most unique way she had ever been propositioned.

Sarah pushed herself up and coughed softly, catching her breath. She looked over and saw Carmichael sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched over and his head hanging low.

That was a picture of dejection, she thought. Swinging her legs underneath her, she moved up onto her knees and crawled towards the edge of the bed, then sat next to him, leaving some space between them.

"Okay there?" she asked, trying to get a good look at his face. He wouldn't look at her, but she could see him tensing his jaw.

After a moment, he nodded his head and rubbed his hand over his face. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Sorry."

"My fault for trying to wake you up," she said, feeling strangely generous. Because if this had happened with anyone else, she'd have punched him. She would have suspected it was an act, a way to try something with her. And even though, yeah, you could say the clothes and the moment in the dark room-and why did that feel like it needed capital letters: The Moment In the Dark Room?-were about him trying something, she didn't get that vibe from him. She couldn't put her finger on it and it was driving her a little bit crazy, yet here she was, excusing his behavior.

Carmichael looked at her, his eyes dark and deep. "Blaming that on spy reflexes and instincts is no excuse for what I did. I'm sorry, Sarah."

It was the first time he had called her by her name. And the way he said it made it sound . . . different. Special.

And there was the crazy again.

Sarah nodded, accepting his apology. "Thanks. I was waking you up in case you wanted to get a shower . . ."

He shook his head. "No, I'll get one tomorrow. So I guess the only thing left to decide is sleeping arrangements."

"Well, you seemed to pick your side, so I'll just take the other one," Sarah said, keeping her voice light.

"No, that's not right. I'll take the floor."

"Seriously?" she asked, the word out of her mouth before she even realized it. She felt her cheeks flush and Carmichael grinned.

"Are you denying me my martyr-like sacrifice? Hmm, I wonder why." His grin shifted into an amused smirk.

She rolled her eyes and nudged him with her elbow-and when had she gotten close enough to him to be able to elbow him? "Because I don't want to think about what kind of parasites you could get from sleeping on the floor? Because then we'd both be stuck here even longer?"

"Most people wouldn't say they're stuck, having to spend more time in the Dominican Republic," Carmichael said. His eyes were no longer dark as coals; they were warmer, brighter. They were practically sparkling at her.

Unconsciously, her eyes flicked down to his lips for a millisecond before returning to his eyes. "I think we both know it's all about who you're with that determines if you're 'stuck' someplace."

In the back of her mind there was a little voice screaming "What the fuck are you doing, Sarah?" But even deeper down, there was another voice, one she didn't listen to very often. One that only spoke up at certain moments. And this voice said, softly but emphatically, "Yes."

Carmichael gazed at her. When he spoke, his words came out low and throaty and yes, sexy. "I wouldn't say I'm stuck here with you."

"Good," she said softly, lifting her face a little. Bringing herself close enough to feel his breath wash over her lips. "Me, neither."

For a long, endless moment, they looked at each other. And then he leaned in and kissed her.

Her eyes slipped shut as soon as his lips touched hers. It was like without her eyesight, her other senses could register what they were feeling more accurately. And this kiss needed deep, close examination.

To her absolute lack of surprise, Charles Carmichael knew how to kiss. Pressure, angle, all those technical things he had mastered. What did surprise her was the intangibles. How soft his lips were. The way his hand settled on her back, warm and solid and still. Getting a closer read on his scent, all clean and woodsy.

This was the last thing she should be doing. It was bound to get out and once it did, her career would be in real jeopardy. But right now, Sarah was having a hard time caring. Not when she felt so frustrated with Bryce and Graham and her career. Not when she felt sidelined and ignored. Not when she was pretty sure that neither of them would be talking about this night with anyone else for a long, long time. At this moment, all she could think about was Charles Carmichael-and the fact that she was holding his attention.

Carmichael-or should she at least be calling him Charles in her head?-pulled back and gently pushed her down onto the bed. He kissed her neck, nuzzling her. His hands landed on her hips, rubbing against her t-shirt as she let her head fall back.

He let out a soft little murmur against her skin, the sound vibrating into her throat. In combination with his stubble scraping against her jaw, it made her shiver. Carmichael looked at her and smiled a little, then brushed his nose against her neck.

God, where was this tenderness coming from? Was it all to make her feel like her whole body was tingling? Like he was going much too slow?

Sarah gripped his shirt and tugged, pulling him up and kissing him deeply. Feeling him press against her made her want more. But when she rolled her hips up against his, he pulled away. "Just-there's something I want to do first." He shifted down her torso until he was almost off the bed.

"What?" she asked, feeling dazed. She pushed herself up on one hand. "What are you talking about?"

His eyes should be illegal. Especially right now, looking at her with something that was a little shy but also very cocky.

Oh-so-slowly, he ran his hands up her legs and under her t-shirt. He gripped her bikini bottoms and looked at her for a long moment, clearly giving her time to change her mind. Her mind was too busy processing what she thought he was about to do to raise any objections. When he pulled the bottoms down and off, Sarah took a deep breath but didn't move. Not until he lowered his head and began kissing up the inside of her thigh.

Her arm lost its strength and she fell back against the bed. Sarah felt like she was floating on a cloud, like this was all a dream that she didn't want to wake up from. Because already, this was the best sexual experience she had ever had. And Carmich-Charles had barely touched her. At least, not until now. When his lips closed over her center.

She gasped and fell into a swirl of sensation, giving herself over to everything she was feeling. It wasn't like her at all-she was all reason and logic normally, but she didn't want to stop feeling this. There was this amazing range of sensations, her body reacting unexpectedly and her muscles tensing and she was moaning and oh, _fuck_!

For a long moment, Sarah was lost inside herself. Panting, sweating, feeling every inch of her body. Then she became aware of Carmichael, brushing back strands of her hair slowly. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. "What the hell?" she said, grinning at him.

"A little something I like to do," he said, shrugging and giving her a Mona Lisa smile.

_A little something I like to do_? Holy shit. She didn't think there were any men out there that actually liked to do that. At least none of the men she had ever been with had just volunteered, without any requests in return. And now her competitive fires were stoked. He made her fall to pieces? It was time to return the favor. With a bonus.

"Hmm," she said, running her eyes over him. Then she sat up and drew her t-shirt over her head, taking her time with it. Giving him a bit of a show. Tossing aside her shirt, Sarah let herself rest against the headboard, letting him look his fill and savoring the feel of his eyes on her. Then she arched an eyebrow at him. "You are overdressed."

Charles smirked. "Then let's do something about that."

"Fuck, yeah," she said, leaning in and kissing him as she worked on the buttons of his shirt. Getting them open, getting her access to an amazing chest and a set of arms that frankly defied description. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. If an iceberg could be six foot four, covered in warm, tan skin and a sprinkling of hair in all the right places.

Once his clothes were off, Sarah felt the tension inside her building again. Charles produced a condom and there was the usual fumbling to get it on-she was distracted by trying to not to obviously gawk at him. But then she was straddling him, looking down into his eyes and wondering why she was hesitating now that she was so close. Why there had been these little moments between them, ones that if she didn't know better meant that this wasn't just sex.

God, this was crazy-he made her crazy. Sarah kissed him hungrily as she lowered herself on him and her mind went blissfully blank. And from his reaction to her hands and mouth and body, so did his mind, too.

XXX

It had been a long time since she had woken up naked between the sheets. Sarah had forgotten how decadent it felt. Especially after a night of amazing, toe-curling sex. Her whole body felt limp yet firm and her mind was delightfully slow and sleepy. The sheets still had a whiff of Carmichael's scent, even though he wasn't there.

Sarah's eyes popped open. She was alone?

Sitting up in bed, holding the sheet against her chest, Sarah looked around, feeling her hair brush against her shoulders. The shower wasn't running, so that wasn't where he was. His clothes which had been scattered around the bed with hers were gone.

And on the wobbly table by the door, there was a piece of folded paper with "Walker" written on it.

Seeing that paper gave her a bad feeling. Deep in the pit of her stomach, shock and anger mixed with a profound sense of something that made her feel empty. Feelings she didn't want to analyze.

Wrapping the sheet around herself, Sarah got out of the bed and walked over to the table. The fact that he switched back to calling her Walker hadn't escaped her. Plucking the note off the table, she opened it and read his spiky handwritten words slowly.

_Walker: I'm sorry to leave you behind, but I got a message from Graham that he wanted me to head directly to New York and brief the UN. I didn't want to wake you when I left for my flight. It was good working with you. Carmichael._

The last sentence looked different from the rest of the note. Like he had hesitated and then scribbled it at the last moment. Like he realized sleeping with her and then running was something that needed to be softened.

Sarah crumpled the piece of paper, dropping it on the table. She doubted that Charles Carmichael had ever done the fuck and flee (because that's what this was, let's not kid ourselves, Charles), if this note was anything to judge by. If she had woken up alone, with no explanation? She could understand that. Hell, she had done it. Slept with someone and then bailed before he woke up, escaping all the awkward morning-after moments. But she never left a note. It was too . . . kind. Too kind and thus too cruel.

Trust Carmichael to not realize that.

With a deep sigh, Sarah began getting dressed. According to the clock, she had an hour to get coffee before she had to get on a plane to Washington. An hour to push down all her memories from last night, locking them up where they wouldn't affect her. Wouldn't keep her from doing her job, from living whatever life a spy could have. It wasn't the first time she'd had to do this. Had to push aside something in order to focus on what needed to be done.

But damn Charles Carmichael for making it so incredibly hard.

XXX

Out of all the problems she had with this assignment right now, the most galling one was that she had only herself to blame.

Sarah held on to the end of the window-washer's platform for dear life. Because when you were dangling in the air, fifteen stories up, that was all you could do-hang on. Especially when you were totally alone and the only way to be rescued was to save yourself.

Grimacing, she used every last bit of her strength to move her hands to one of the railings that ran along the long side of the platform. The whole contraption shuddered as she moved, adding to the fear that she refused to feel. When she got both of her hands around one of the railing supports, she pulled herself up enough to wiggle onto the platform.

For a few long moments, she just laid there: not even breathing that hard, really. She was in too much shock for that. Even the tremendous burn in her shoulders and arms and back, and the bullet wound in her calf that was a through-and-through, didn't fully register on her. But she knew it was just a matter of time before it faded. She had to get out of here.

Slowly and carefully, Sarah got to her feet. She crab-walked to the crank that raised or lowered the platform. Although the last thing she wanted was to go to the roof of this building and fight her way out, there was no way she'd be able to drop the platform to its lowest setting and then jump off. So with a sigh, she turned the crank and lifted the platform.

Once she was on the roof, she checked her guns and then headed towards the stairwell that led to the top floor of the building. Moving as quickly as she could with one bad leg, Sarah made her way down the stairs, wishing she could take the elevator. But getting pinned down within a metal box, just to save herself twenty flights of stairs, seemed foolish.

If worst came to worst, she'd let gravity take over and just fall down the stairs.

With a small, rueful smirk, Sarah kept moving. Fortunately, it appeared that most of the resistance she had previously encountered had assumed she had died when she went through the window on the nineteenth floor. That was the problem for terrorists: getting good help was so difficult. They clearly weren't professionals, because professionals would have found her and put a bullet through her skull before now.

At least she got what she came for-a flash drive of information on Fulcrum shell companies. With Fulcrum the latest threat that had the CIA's panties in a bunch, the Agency was following its standard playbook: knock out the quasi-civilian companies supporting the terrorists and then, when they were out of resources, wait for the terrorists to start screwing up.

Privately, Sarah thought it wasn't going to work. Fulcrum was funded up the ass and acted like the mole in whack-a-mole. You hit one and two more popped up. But when she'd made that point to Graham the last time she saw him, he'd brushed her off. Claimed that they had some top people working on Fulcrum, so for the time being the CIA was going to stick with what had worked in the past.

She wondered if Charles Carmichael was one-

No. She wasn't going to think about him.

Sarah picked up her pace, not caring that her leg was on fire, and got out of the building. She had plenty of other problems to occupy her mind with. Like how to get first aid in the middle of godforsaken Mexico City, just what that message from Bryce on her voicemail might mean, and when she might get a real shower.

Those things were what mattered. Nothing else.

XXX

Carina Miller always walked like she owned the world. But there was an extra bit of sass in her as she walked into the Georgetown tapas bar at which she had agreed to meet Sarah.

"Find any potential victims for tonight?" Sarah asked as Carina air-kissed her cheeks.

"No, but since I didn't get any video surveillance on the place, I have to do things the old-fashioned way." Carina smirked and took the seat Sarah had left for her, on the high-backed wall bench. Due to her still-healing leg, Sarah had taken the chair opposite her.

"How's the leg?" Carina asked, shifting to show off her long, tanned limbs.

"You know how it is," Sarah said with a shrug. "But I can get back in the field in two weeks."

"Ugh, I hate rehabbing injuries," Carina said. "Give me twenty grazes over one bullet wound any day."

Sarah nodded, sipping her glass of sangria. "Tell me about it. At least I'm catching up with my paperwork."

Carina eyed Sarah over the menu, her lips twitching as if she had something to say. Fortunately, the waiter-chiseled, easy on the eyes, and with a Spanish accent-showed up to distract Carina in multiple ways.

By the time they had decided to order a round of tapas followed by paella, and Carina had put in an order for a pitcher of sangria, Sarah was ready for whatever Carina might say. To her surprise, though, Carina kept the conversation light and breezy until her sangria arrived.

But then Carina moved in for the kill, just when Sarah had started to lower her defenses. It was a rookie mistake on her part, Sarah knew.

"So Bryce should be done with that deep cover assignment by now, shouldn't he?"

Running her finger along the mouth of her glass, Sarah nodded. "Yes. About two weeks ago, in fact."

"Right around the time your leg happened. You know, Sarah, if you wanted to pick up where you left off with Bryce, you'll need to be more obvious. Bryce is pretty but not that bright." Carina's voice was casual, almost teasing, but her eyes were quite serious for her.

"Why does everyone assume I want to pick things up with Bryce?" Sarah asked, feeling annoyed. "He's the one that dumped me."

"He's also a hot piece of ass and not a complete waste of an agent," Carina pointed out. "For a partner, he's not that bad."

"Yeah, well, I don't want a partner anymore. I'd rather do solo missions or work in a team." Sarah finished her sangria and refilled her glass from Carina's pitcher.

"Then come back and work with me and the rest of the C.A.T.s," Carina said. "I'm going to Miami the day after tomorrow; you could come along and finish your rehab there. You know how it is-you could even start working on mission support while you're recovering."

"Maybe," Sarah said, playing with a cracker from the bread basket.

Carina looked irritated. "Walker, what the fuck? First you say you don't want a partner, and then when I offer you a great opportunity, one that will let you have fun, get laid, and catch some terrorists, you turn up your nose?"

For a moment, Sarah felt like lashing out at Carina. Telling her that maybe she wanted more, that a couple of months with the C.A.T. Squad was more than enough, and that there was more to life than adrenaline and sex.

But the thing was, Carina was right. She was being inconsistent. Carina's offer was a good one. One that she'd be crazy not to accept. And lately, Sarah had it made very clear to herself that she was totally crazy.

Perhaps . . . perhaps she should tell Carina what had happened with Carmichael. The basics, at least. No identifying details, of course, but enough background to convey how shaken up she was. Since Carina worked for another agency, perhaps she wouldn't figure it out.

Although telling Carina-telling anyone-was the last thing she should do. Because Carina lived for gossip and wouldn't understand why Sarah would want to keep this quiet. Why it all was just too confusing and complicated to talk about.

Sarah gave Carina an apologetic smile. "I know. I'm sorry. It would be great." She paused and blew out a breath. "Maybe I just need to meet with Bryce, like he's been asking me to do. Clear the air between us so I can move on."

"It's not a bad idea," Carina said. "Give him a piece of your mind for what he did. A lesson in partner etiquette."

"Exactly," Sarah said. "Someday, I'd like to work one-on-one again. For the most part, Bryce and I worked well together."

Carina grinned at Sarah. "And if you happen to fall into bed together-one last time . . ."

"Um, no," Sarah said firmly, but returning Carina's grin. "Remember what I said in Miami about not making the same mistake twice? I really mean that."

Especially in light of what had happened with Carmichael.

With a snicker, Carina topped off her glass. "Too bad. You always regret the mistakes you don't make."

Now that she was on her third glass of sangria on a moderately empty stomach, Sarah felt more receptive to talking. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Better to regret the things you did than what you didn't do, even if what you did-or who you did-is a mistake," Carina said lightly, leaning back against the bench. "After all, you don't regret sleeping with whoever it was that you screwed recently, do you?"

What . . .? Sarah felt her eyes widen. "You can tell?"

The redhead smirked. "Not until you confirmed it." At Sarah's death glare, Carina looked slightly apologetic. "Okay, it was a guess, but I guessed right. You slept with someone?"

And another rookie mistake. Jesus Christ, Walker, Sarah told herself mentally. A few drinks with a woman you worked with for a couple of weeks and suddenly it's like you're best friends. But it was done and she might as well come clean as much as she could.

"It was about two months ago," Sarah admitted. "We had finished this mission, and . . ." Sarah shrugged, not really needing to explain how it all happened. After all, Carina knew how it was in the field.

Carina wasted no time in cutting to the chase. She leaned forward. "How good was it?"

Her cheeks flushed as she said, "The best ever?"

"Really?" Carina asked, her eyes widening. "Like, the best best?"

She nodded and shoved a piece of bread into her mouth. If she was chewing, she couldn't talk. Couldn't say just how amazing it was, couldn't reveal that she kept having dreams about that night.

The arrival of their food was a blessing. It gave Sarah time to eat and to take the edge off the alcohol. And it gave her time to think, since Carina only took men more seriously than her food. It would be nice to talk to Carina. Explain all her mixed emotions about Bryce. Tell her more about that night with Carmichael. Like they were real friends.

But Sarah's life wasn't some chick flick. She was an agent for the Central Intelligence Agency and she didn't sit around talking about her love life. Tonight was just a rare night between work acquaintances, two people that had forged a friendship out of necessity. Although Carina was fun to work with, Sarah didn't trust her. So revealing anything more than she already had was the last thing she wanted to do-or should.

As they ate, Carina kept glancing at her. Probably waiting for Sarah to tell her more. But instead, Sarah started asking how the C.A.T. Squad was doing, how the hunt for Gaez was progressing, and what brought Carina to D.C. It wasn't exactly smooth, but getting Carina talking about herself would get them through the rest of the meal.

She meant what she said earlier. She only wanted to work on solo missions right now. And that's what she would do-right after she taught Bryce a lesson.

XXX

To her complete lack of surprise, Bryce was on another assignment, so they had to meet in New York. Sarah made sure to arrive at the restaurant first, twenty minutes before their agreed-upon time. For appearance's sake, she wore a dark pant suit, wishing she could have worn a skirt but knowing that her leg injury being visible would have drawn too much attention. She sipped some water as she waited, gazing out the window as she tried to remember that since she was in public, she had to keep a lid on her temper. Make this be about their professional relationship, about the issues in their partnership.

When she spotted Bryce through the windows, he was only five minutes late. He sauntered into the restaurant, wearing a well-cut three-piece suit in a gray pinstripe. When he spotted her, he walked straight over to her table and leaned down to kiss her cheek. At the last moment Sarah pulled her head back so he only got air. "Hello, Bryce."

"So that's how it's going to be?" he asked, straightening up.

"How else did you expect it to be?"

Bryce pursed his lips before sitting down. "I suppose I deserve that," he said, unbuttoning his suit jacket and resting his wrists against the table, his hands folded together.

"You deserve worse, but I'm trying to be professional here," Sarah said, leaning back in her chair with her hands in her lap. She could hear the ice in her voice, knew she was coming off too frosty and Ice Queen. Bryce would try to needle her into losing her temper now. But acting cold was the only way to hide how just seeing him brought back all the betrayal and anger and distrust.

This lunch might clear the air between them, but Sarah doubted they would ever be able to work together again. Not with the stew of emotions he provoked in her. Emotions were too messy for work.

And since she hadn't learned that lesson with Bryce, her experience with Carmichael had definitely made sure that she had.

"If that's the way you want it . . ." Bryce said, his voice trailing off.

Sarah took a deep breath and attempted to sound more conciliatory. "Let's be honest with each other, Bryce. Was our partnership really working? Look at our success rate, at how we were working together. And then you decided to take a solo assignment without telling me first."

"That was a combination of bad timing and communication failure," Bryce said. "The mission came up without advance notice and I had to decide quickly if I wanted to take it. I kept trying to reach you in Brazil but the phone exchanges did one of those vanishing acts, as they do down there. And by the time I did get through, I could only leave you a message."

"I didn't get any messages," Sarah said. She eyed Bryce. She wouldn't put it past him to come up with a lie like this, something convenient that removed any blame from himself. But in this case, she believed him.

"Then I'm definitely sorry for that," Bryce said, gazing at her with sincerity in his blue eyes. "I didn't intend for you to not know I was leaving."

It was about as good of an apology as she would get from Bryce. But it didn't get at the real issue here.

Before Sarah could bring that up, the waiter arrived to take their orders and Bryce launched into a flurry of small talk. It was ten minutes before she could bring the conversation back to work. And even then, he tried to stymie her. Finally, Sarah gave up on being subtle.

"Bryce? Why did you even take the assignment?"

He looked at her over the rim of his glass, then slowly set it down. "Does it even really matter? I mean, we both know that things weren't going well . . ."

She gave him a long look. It did matter. Or maybe it didn't and she just needed to know that Bryce would have done this to anyone he was working with when the partnership wasn't working, and the fact that he had been sleeping with her didn't come into his decision.

"That's a bullshit answer, Bryce," she said. "Tell me why you took the assignment."

Leaning forward, he kept his voice low. "It was a solo op. Something a lot more challenging than all the Mr. and Mrs. Anderson schtick the Agency kept assigning us. You can't tell me you weren't bored with it, too."

"You never said anything about wanting to do solo missions or deep cover," Sarah argued. "It was totally out of the blue, finding out you'd taken that kind of assignment."

Bryce scoffed. "If we're going to get into what we told each other, I have a lot more grounds for complaint than you do."

What the fuck? He wanted to go there? Sarah gritted her teeth. Professional, stay professional, she reminded herself.

Her voice sounded fairly even-tempered when she spoke. "I would have thought that if you wanted to stop working together, you would have told me. I don't know what you said on your message, telling me about the assignment, but you can't make me believe it would have been a thorough explanation of your thought process."

"And next we would have talked about our feelings," Bryce said caustically. "Oh, wait, you don't have any."

His jibe hit her like a body blow. Blinking, Sarah stared at him. He thought she didn't have feelings? She'd be the first one to admit that she was reserved, but she had worked with Bryce for two years. Long enough to begin to trust him. To open up to him. Not about her deepest, darkest feelings, but about how she felt about certain missions and people, what her goals were.

Somehow, she managed to keep her voice quiet, instead of pounding his face in. "That's not the way it was between us. Since you want to keep bringing it up, and honestly by now I want to know, let's deal with it." She leveled her eyes on him, holding his gaze. "Did you take the solo mission to get away from your partner or to get away from your girlfriend?"

He at least had the courtesy to not look away. She could see his mind working to come up with an answer and she found herself bracing for it.

"Both. But mostly the girlfriend. Not that we were ever really boyfriend and girlfriend material." Bryce reached out and took her hand. "We had good chemistry as agents, at first. But the relationship just screwed everything up. Especially once it went south. You can't deny that the spark was gone long before I finally left."

"Don't tell me how I should think," Sarah said reflexively, pulling her hand away. But she only said it because as frustrating as it was to admit, he was right. When they first started working together, it had been exciting. They had clicked from the beginning, quickly falling into a rhythm together, both professionally and personally. Bryce was a natural flirt and Sarah had enjoyed receiving his attentions. It had all seemed so easy, so effortless. Sleeping together wasn't a choice, it was instinct. Like knowing he took low and she took high when going through a doorway.

She had never heard that soft, emphatic voice inside her like she had with Carmichael.

And this wasn't the time to be thinking about that. Sarah shoved away those memories and focused on Bryce. "And you couldn't talk to me about this?"

"I didn't think you'd listen. Or talk," Bryce said. He played with his silverware for a moment. "And I was too chicken to even broach the subject with you. So I took the easy way out."

His words hung in the air for a moment. Sarah found herself nodding. "Yeah, you did."

Their food had appeared at some point during their argument, but looking at her plate, Sarah knew she couldn't eat anything. Taking a deep breath, she looked at Bryce. "I guess that's it."

"Yeah," he said quietly. He cleared his throat. "We were good while we lasted, though. Weren't we?"

Gazing at Bryce's handsome face, his perfectly-coiffed hair and his bright blue eyes, something inside Sarah tightened. She wished she could just smile and kiss him on the cheek and say they could have a drink together sometime, that he could call her if he ran into trouble on a mission. But she couldn't. She couldn't take the high road on this. The hurt she still felt at his casual betrayal was like a boulder in her stomach.

Was this what her job was all about? Thinking you had a partner, only to find out they were only interested in their own needs? Being constantly on the move to the point where you couldn't handle any downtime and jumped at any mission that would let you get away from yourself?

Bryce might think she didn't have emotions, but she did. If he couldn't see how she felt, then maybe she needed to learn how to keep pushing aside her feelings, needed to go cold and hard and ruthless. Be the enforcer that Graham wanted her to be. To become the last person you'd want showing up at your door.

It'd be easier to feel nothing at all.

Sarah stood up. "I'm not hungry. And I don't think we have anything else to say."

His eyes flickered, but he nodded. "I think you're right." Bryce stood and held his hand out to her. "Good luck to you in the future."

"You, too," Sarah said, shaking his hand firmly. Not thinking about how they used to be lovers and colleagues and now they were . . . nothing.

Letting go of his hand, she turned and walked out of the restaurant, her head held high. She slipped on some sunglasses and used them as a barrier between herself and the rest of the world. It was just what she wanted.

XXX

It would sound more satisfying if her boots thumped against the floors of the elaborate mansion, but silence was the name of the game when you were a spy. So Sarah placed her feet lightly as she moved through the dark hallways.

Besides, she wasn't wearing boots. For this mission, she was dressed in ninja wear: a black, close-fitting jumpsuit with lightweight shoes and a hood over her head. It was a simple assignment: get in, remove a few hard drives, get out.

And if it didn't go as planned, she had her gun fitted with a silencer.

So far, though, everything had gone like clockwork. Her arrival in Paris had been on-time, her supplies ready for her. The drive to the estate she would be infiltrating had been free of any complications. Once she was at the house, she had cracked the security system-although it had taken her longer than she would have liked; the damn systems kept getting harder and harder to crack unless you were an electronics genius-and eliminated the "guard" in the small gatehouse with a shot between the eyes. Now she had free run of the entire compound.

Thanks to the map she had memorized, she knew there were three different routes for reaching the server room in the basement. She had picked the route that represented the best mix of reward versus risk: some exposed sections, but fairly direct.

Now there was only twenty yards to the staircase that led to the basement, a staircase that was right by the server room. But just as she opened the door, she felt the vibration of her cell phone against her hip and frowned.

Only a handful of people had this number and if any one of them was calling, it was important. Moving as quickly as she could, Sarah moved down the staircase and dashed into the server room. Then she yanked out the phone and answered it, pushing the hood off her face as she spoke. She purposely chose a generic greeting instead of using her name as normal. "Hello"

"Agent Walker. I know you're on a mission at the moment, but I need you to come in."

The sound of Langston Graham's voice shocked her. It had been months since she had any contact with the deputy director, since she began selecting her own missions. And his voice had an air of command to it.

"Understood, sir. Should I complete my assignment?" Sarah asked, knowing that the answer would tell her just how urgent this visit was.

"We have another agent in route to take over for you," Graham said. "Get out and get to Le Bourget; there's a jet waiting for you."

A jet, huh? Between another agent replacing her and the CIA coughing up the money to fly her back on a charter instead of a commercial flight, clearly this was top-priority.

"Yes, sir," Sarah said. "I should be wheels up within two hours."

"Make it an hour and a half if possible, Agent." Without another word, Graham hung up.

Sarah looked at her phone for a moment, then shook her head and took route number 1, the fastest and riskiest path to the exit. Within a few moments she was back in her Renault and driving towards Paris.

It was hard to guess just what made Graham call her back like this. Some kind of mission, definitely. But what was so important that they'd pull her off the operation she was currently on? She didn't know and that made her extra curious.

Over the last four months, she had been constantly on the go. She kept getting messages that she was in violation of the CIA's rest policies, but she just ignored them and took on the next assignment. Given that she had been incredibly successful, she was able to get around the rules about leave time. And thanks to her reputation as one of the agency's best enforcers, few people seemed willing to cross her.

Gripping the steering wheel, Sarah felt a flutter of nerves but tamped it down. Until she knew what was going on, worrying would do her no good. So for now, she would focus on getting to Paris as quickly as she could, then getting some food and some sleep on the plane.

XXX

Graham had arranged for everything: there had been a change of clothes for her on the plane, as well as plenty of food. When she walked into his office the next morning, she was glad that she had her professional armor. Because the serious expression on his face made her suspect this was going to be a difficult conversation.

"Director Graham," she said, shaking his hand. "It's good to see you."

"You've been busy. Moving around the globe practically at the speed of light," he said, returning her handshake and then gesturing for her to take a seat. "But I'm afraid that's about to come to an end."

Sarah arched her eyebrow, trying to appear calm even as his words shocked her. "An end, sir?"

"Yes. There is a long-term assignment that you seem particularly well-suited for. It's been decided-at the highest levels-that you will join the newest version of the Intersect Project." Graham paused for a moment. "Have you heard about the Intersect Project?"

Of course she had. Pretty much every agent had, like all the other urban legends and myths that surrounded being a spy. Of course, the Intersect was of more recent vintage; it had only come into existence after the September 11th attacks. Supposedly, it was a joint CIA/NSA operation, designed to share and pool intelligence from both agencies in some cutting-edge fashion. But it had all been so top-secret and hush-hush, even in this line of work, that rumors soon sprung up that it was really based off old Cold War ideas of how to improve spies, make them better and unable to be turned.

"I have . . . although of course, only what any agent with my clearance level would know," Sarah said.

Graham let out a soft snort. "Of course. Basically, the Intersect is a database. It contains intelligence from the CIA, the NSA, and what we were able to pry out of military intelligence agencies. By sharing data, we can put together the puzzle pieces and see the bigger picture."

Sarah nodded, not really seeing how a simple database merited such a high clearance level.

"The information in the Intersect is specially encoded," Graham continued. "Designed to be accessed through visual or auditory triggers."

"What does that even mean?" Sarah asked, leaning forward.

"If someone says a name that's in the Intersect, for example, the Intersect will provide all the intelligence about that individual. Instantaneously, ready to be acted upon."

Hmmm. That would be useful in the field, if that was where the Intersect was to be used. So often, the lack of knowledge created the problems that agents had to solve on the fly. Being able to access all the available intelligence would be a huge bonus. Although it would take a certain kind of agent to be able to analyze the information and actually apply it.

"What kind of technology does the Intersect use? A smartphone of some kind?" Sarah asked, feeling intrigued. She wondered if Graham could demonstrate the Intersect in action.

Graham leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled. "The Intersect is not housed within a device, Agent Walker."

"Then how is it used?" Sarah was starting to feel frustrated by how difficult it was to get information from Graham. He was the one who called her in, rushed her back here for this meeting, and now he was playing games?

She didn't know if her frustration showed in her voice or her body language, but Graham nodded as if he had seen it. He leaned forward. "The Intersect is designed to be implanted within an agent's brain."

What the fuck?

The questions tumbled out of her. "How does that work? How many agents have the Intersect? Is there a training and selection process to find agents? What-"

He lifted up his hand, cutting her off. "Let me give you some more background, Agent Walker. In the four years that the Intersect has been available to us, two agents have been uploaded with the Intersect." His lips twisted. "It has not worked out well."

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

"The first agent was not able to handle the upload," Graham said, his voice deep. "And the second was killed six months ago. She was too distracted during a mission by the Intersect feeding her information to avoid a hail of bullets."

Sarah took a deep breath. Death was a possibility on any mission. And while dying in the line of duty was a high honor, it was still something to be saddened by when it happened to another agent. And then there was the first agent, the one who "couldn't handle" the Intersect. That was a vague statement that left much unsaid. Unfortunately, her imagination was filling in the blanks.

"We have learned much from these failures," Graham said. "Yet there is a point where any project, no matter how innovative and full of potential, must be abandoned."

"But the Agency's not at that point yet?" Sarah guessed.

"No . . . we are attempting one more upload before we give up on the Intersect." Graham smiled tightly. "Third time's the charm, hopefully."

Was she the charm? Was the Agency planning to put the Intersect inside her? Sarah bit her lower lip, giving in to her nervous habit, then gave herself a mental shake. Although she was a good agent, perhaps even considered a very good one, she didn't think she was the right kind of person for this. But then why was Graham telling her all this?

Shifting in her seat, Sarah looked at the deputy director. "So what's my part in all this?"

"This time, we're doing something different. The Intersect has the ability to allow an alternate personality to be uploaded to an agent. A cover identity that cannot be broken or compromised, because the agent doesn't realize he's anyone but his cover. But as a result, we anticipate the agent to be fairly defenseless. That is where you come in, Agent Walker-you would serve as the Intersect agent's handler, protecting him." Graham eyed her. "I understand that this might be difficult to take in . . ."

Difficult to take in? Try impossible. This all sounded like science fiction. How the hell could another personality be put into a person? That seemed entirely too risky for the last chance they were going to take on the Intersect. It was like they were sure it was going to fail, so they might as well try everything they had ever thought of.

Although . . . what a smart idea. A cover identity was only as good as an agent's ability to believe that cover and convincingly present it to the world. If the agent faltered or the cover was blown in some way, then the agent would be screwed. But with the agent having a completely different personality, the belief would be there. And with protection, the Intersect could be hidden in plain sight. She didn't know what kind of personality would be implanted in the agent who got the Intersect, but she bet it would be some kind of loser who could never be a spy.

For a long time, Sarah had not felt very inspired when it came to her career. There had been few high points in the past year, but now she was facing an assignment that could challenge her in untold ways. The success of the whole mission rested, to a large extent, in her hands. And just thinking about it made her feel eager to learn more about the Intersect, about this operation, and what she could suggest to improve the mission parameters.

Graham lifted up several thick folders. "There's a lot to get you brought up to speed. The NSA's representative has been working with us for three weeks already-"

"Excuse me?" Sarah asked, even as she took the folders. "A NSA representative?"

"It's a joint op. We couldn't do this without our friends in Fort Meade," Graham said. "You've met John Casey, yes?"

Sarah did her best not to make a face. Casey was a burn-out: cold and hard, known for his marksmanship and his ruthlessness. He wasn't the NSA agent she would have picked, but then, this was a glorified protection detail. And he could be rather bulldog-like, she had heard.

"Casey and you will work together to protect the agent. We're anticipating that this assignment will last for a year-we don't want the dual strain of the Intersect and the cover personality being put on the agent for much longer than twelve months."

"I understand," Sarah said, looking down at the folders in her lap curiously. There seemed to be a lot of information about the Intersect, which she would need to read over and digest later. But what she was most interested in now was one simple question: who was the agent getting the Intersect?

The top folder, which seemed to only hold a few sheets of paper, was labeled Intersect Agent #3. She glanced at Graham, asking silently if she could open it. He nodded, so Sarah slowly opened the file and felt her eyes widen.

The papers were a personnel file. One that she was already familiar with. And on top was the photo of a man that she knew very well already.

"I know you've worked with him before," Graham said. "It might be a bit dangerous for the cover identity, but he especially requested you for this assignment."

Sarah jerked her eyes to Graham. What? He requested her?

Graham quirked a small, amused smile at her. "Surprised that Charles Carmichael wants to work with you again?"

Her surprise was so all-encompassing at this point that Sarah could only nod and look back down at the papers in her lap.

Charles Carmichael had requested to work with her again. He would be getting the Intersect. And she would spend the next year working with him, and he would have no idea during that year what had happened between them during their mission in the Dominican Republic.

Surprise wasn't the right way to describe what she was feeling right now. It was more like absolute fucking disbelief.

End, Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

Sarah knew she was gaping at her boss, but she couldn't seem to help it. Beyond the sheer impossibility of Charles Carmichael wanting to work with her again, there was the absolute craziness of this assignment. Because that's what it was: one hundred percent fucking crazy!

It was hard to believe that of all people, Charles Carmichael was being put through this. From how Graham had described it, the Intersect seemed doomed-and the CIA certainly seemed to be thinking along the same lines. That was the only explanation for them throwing so much into the project. It was a last-ditch effort.

But Carmichael was the best and brightest the CIA had to offer. They were going to put him through this, risking him on something that had failed in two other agents. It seemed incredibly stupid and short-sighted and she didn't understand it. From what she knew, she didn't think Carmichael was the right man for the job. Even though his reputation was that he was always the right man for the job.

If it was just about receiving the Intersect, she thought he would be fine. Better than fine, probably-with the frankly awesome mind he had, having all of the intelligence community's data would most likely turn him into some kind of super spy. He'd probably put half the agents in the CIA out of work, because he'd take out most of the world's terrorists in one fell swoop.

No, it was about this cover personality, overlaying his real one, that gave her doubts. What kind of personality was it? How did it even work, the second identity and the Intersect in someone's brain? Was there room for it? She supposed there was plenty of information in the files she had to read, but . . . but the more she thought about it, the more her head hurt.

And deep down, she couldn't help feeling concerned about Carmichael. Given what had happened between them, she probably wasn't the most objective source when it came to him. The last thing she could do was tell Graham that she was worried about Carmichael-talk about screwing herself. But having to go through this, facing the possibility of losing his mind at worst and a year of his life at best . . .

She didn't know how the CIA had convinced him to do this, but she hoped he was in line for a big reward. Pay raise, promotion, commendations out the ass. He deserved all that and then some.

Taking a breath, Sarah gathered her thoughts. "I've got a lot of questions, Director."

"Of course. For the time being, though, I'm afraid I have a meeting to attend. We can regroup this afternoon, after you've had a chance to review the operation parameters."

Research was not her strong suit. But for this mission, she'd do better than an analyst. Because she wanted to be prepared. Wanted to know this mission inside and out, because she wasn't going to be the weak link.

Sarah wasn't going to let Carmichael down.

XXX

The longer she read the materials, the more confused she got. And the more excited.

This mission was firing her creativity in a way nothing else ever had. The challenges, the opportunities . . . it boggled her mind. Being part of a small team, tasked with confronting the threat that Fulcrum posed to the CIA and the United States-it was a plum assignment. It was coming up with a different way to knock out Fulcrum, a way that no one would expect. Seeing the CIA think differently was something else. Perhaps it was Carmichael's influence.

Yet again, Sarah found her thoughts drawn to the personal aspects of the mission. Not just the limited information about what Carmichael's cover personality would be, but what her role would be. Because where the CIA hadn't thought originally was in her job on this assignment.

She was going to be the girlfriend.

When she read that, Sarah had rolled her eyes. Of course she'd be the girlfriend. They better hope that Carmichael's cover identity wasn't gay.

Unearthing a notepad, she began taking notes. There was so much information that it would be easy to get overwhelmed. And she wanted to walk into Graham's office this afternoon with a list of questions-questions to which she wanted to get answers.

For now, she had to put aside the cover personality, since the info in the files was pretty sparse on just who this new Carmichael would be. But there were still plenty of details that gave her pause. Like this Eleanor Woodcomb who would be monitoring Carmichael's brain and gauging the effect the Intersect had on him-who was she? How could the Agency trust her?

Sarah spent the next three hours pouring over the paperwork and making notes. This was more pre-prep for an assignment than she had done since her first ops. The only thing that really stymied her was the technical documents on the Intersect. Finally she shoved them aside and resolved to read them later. She might be doing her best analyst impression, but she wasn't some kind of egghead genius.

Gathering together all the files and her notes, Sarah headed towards Graham's office. There were so many different thoughts and feelings and impulses inside her. As she climbed the two flights of stairs to the executive level, where Graham's office was, she felt a stirring of doubt. Was this what she should be doing? Taking on this assignment, working with a man she had mixed emotions about, facing such a huge challenge in her first deep-cover operation.

Yet even as she thought about it, the doubt vanished. Or at least receded. Sarah couldn't kid herself: she wanted this job. She wanted it badly. It was strange how much she wanted it. Strange that she wasn't angry about playing the girlfriend role, strange that the lack of information wasn't bothering her more. And fuck, she needed to find a word other than strange for this.

Huffing out a laugh, Sarah stepped into Graham's office. Once she was back in front of him, Sarah set down the folders and looked at the deputy director.

He eyed the messy stack and her notepad, then lifted his eyes to hers. "Perhaps I should pick up where we left off."

"If you like, Director," she said crisply. Continuing the briefing might resolve some of the concerns she had. But If he thought he would be able to reassure her and send her off without getting her questions answered, he was mistaken.

"Very well," Graham said. "You've seen by now what your role will be: you will begin dating Agent Carmichael, when he is in his cover identity guise, while working in a nearby retail establishment. Meanwhile, Major Casey will be posing as his co-worker."

"Can you tell me more about Agent Carmichael's cover personality? After all, if I'm his girlfriend, I'll need to know about him." Sarah made herself sound as professional as possible. Not like someone who had some kind of interest beyond a work-related one in Charles Carmichael.

"Actually, you and Agent Carmichael will be establishing your relationship as the mission begins, so a lack of knowledge will reinforce appearances; you will therefore look like a couple in the early stages of a relationship. Agent Carmichael has been working with our scientists for the last two months to develop his new identity. He'll be going by the name Chuck Bartowski."

Chuck Bartowski? She nearly wrinkled her nose. What a name. Shaking her head, she looked at Graham. "I don't know that I need to be kept totally in the dark to play the part of a woman interested in a man. I should get a full briefing on this Chuck Bartowski personality."

"You will receive some basic information. Just remember, the first person you'll have to convince is Chuck," Graham cautioned. "If it's not believable, it could cause a dissonance between the Chuck identity and Agent Carmichael, resulting in neural strain."

"Speaking of that," Sarah said, flipping through her notebook, "I noticed that there's an Eleanor Woodcomb who will be monitoring Carmichael-or is it Chuck?-and keeping tabs on his brain. I'm surprised it's not a CIA scientist."

"The choice of Eleanor Woodcomb served two purposes. Dr. Woodcomb is a neurologist, a very talented one. She holds a research fellowship at UCLA, so she's perfectly placed to run tests and evaluate those results. The other reason is that she is Agent Carmichael's sister. She will help you and Major Casey with protecting Carmichael."

His sister? What? "Is-is she an agent?" Sarah managed to ask, grappling with her shock.

"No, but she's been extensively prepared for what her role in this project will be and has been well-compensated."

Sarah leaned back in her chair, thinking this over. She would bet that the fellowship Eleanor Woodcomb held was thanks to the CIA. And it was a sign of how much the CIA wanted to keep Carmichael safe if they had arranged for a neurologist to be available to them 24/7. And not just any neurologist-Carmichael's sister. She had a vested interest in keeping him safe. It was a bit reassuring to know that the CIA was doing its best to protect Carmichael.

"That's good," she said. "I suppose Major Casey and I will be briefed on any symptoms to watch for and if we observe them, we should report to Dr. Woodcomb?"

"Exactly," Graham said. "Dr. Woodcomb is just as much a part of the team as you and Major Casey. But she will be keeping her involvement hidden from anyone other than the two of you."

"Understood," Sarah said, filing away that fact in order to consider it more fully at a later time. "And the Chuck personality?"

Graham handed over yet another file folder. "That has Agent Carmichael's description of the personality."

Flipping it open, Sarah ran her eyes over the papers inside. As she read, she felt her eyes widening. This was who Carmichael wanted to be for the next year? Some geek who worked at an electronics store and lived with his sister and her husband? What the fuck?

"I sense you're surprised," Graham said, stating the obvious. "Having worked with Carmichael before, it might be too difficult to adjust to working with this Chuck character."

There seemed to be something left unsaid in his voice. Sarah pinned him with her gaze. "What exactly do you mean, Director?"

The icy tone to her voice didn't phase him. "You've done a lot of good work in the last few months, but the reports on your demeanor, your attitude . . . they've troubled me. And I don't know if this assignment is the best course for you. But Carmichael had a very short list of people he was willing to work with. And we don't want to risk him any more than we already are." Graham paused and looked at her, his eyes narrowed. "If you have any doubts or reservations about your part in this operation, now is the time to voice them. It's not too late to replace you."

For a moment, she was tempted to tell Graham to go take a flying fuck. How dare he question her like this? But she managed to push the anger down and think logically.

Did she want to be replaced? Was Graham right that taking on this assignment would be bad for her? Her earlier doubts made a reappearance, giving her pause. She knew she had changed. The ending of her partnership and relationship with Bryce . . . the mission with Carmichael . . . working with Carina: they had impacted her in different ways. Left her wondering if the job was all there was. If she had made the right decision when Graham had approached her and offered her a new name and a new life. And although every time the thought crossed her mind she had ruthlessly shoved it aside, the same questions kept occurring to her. Working on this job would move those questions to the forefront: having to play a normal girl when she was really a spy, juggling two different worlds. And through it all, she would be working with a man who looked like Charles Carmichael, but would be acting like Chuck Bartowski, whoever he was.

But . . . but it would also give her a chance to stay in one place for a year. To work on exciting missions. To make a difference. To save lives. That was the reason she had joined the CIA, that was the reason she kept going. Because she was damn good at this and she could become even better. And looking at it like that, how could her answer be anything other than no?

Sarah shook her head. "I appreciate your concern, Director. But this is a great opportunity for me, and . . . and I think the rapport I have with Agent Carmichael will let me be convincing as his cover girlfriend. I don't know Major Casey, but I have every confidence that we will be able to work together effectively." She lifted her eyes to his. "I don't want to be replaced."

Graham seemed disgruntled, like he had hoped she would agree to being replaced. And that made her wonder just how well he actually knew her, versus the Sarah Walker he had been trying to create all these years starting with the persona he gave her when she was seventeen.

"Very well, Agent Walker," he said, rising to his feet. "You'll travel to Los Angeles tomorrow to begin laying the groundwork. Major Casey will join you at that time. You'll both meet with Dr. Woodcomb before she comes here to oversee the Intersect and identity uploads."

"Just when is the upload happening?" Sarah asked, standing up and hugging the file folders to her chest.

"We anticipate Operation Bartowski formally beginning in a week and a half."

It wasn't much time. And if she was going to LA tomorrow, that meant she wouldn't have a chance to see Carmichael before the assignment began. And perhaps . . . perhaps that was for the best. It wasn't like he could tell her anything she didn't already know. Or at least, wouldn't know by the time Carmichael had become Chuck.

She nodded and held her hand out to the deputy director. "Thank you, sir."

He slowly shook her hand. "Good luck, agent."

Perhaps it might be her, but she detected a note of "you're going to need it" in his voice. That just made her lift her chin and give him a professional, confident smile before she let go of his hand and walked out without looking back.

XXX

Sarah checked her appearance in the mirror as she got ready in her new "home": a boutique hotel and apartment building in Santa Monica. It seemed a lot nicer than her cover identity should be able to afford, but she would have time to develop her legend more over the next few days. And besides, she wasn't going to complain about having luxury accommodations for once.

Fluffing out her hair, Sarah evaluated her appearance. Dark skinny trousers and a matching blazer, with a silvery-blue silk tank underneath the jacket. Her one sole pair of Christian Louboutins, the prize of her small shoe collection, were on her feet and she had silver hoops in her ears. She had taken a lot of care with her appearance, trying to look . . .

How was she trying to look? And what did it matter what Eleanor Woodcomb thought of her? This was just business.

Although in a way, it wasn't. Dr. Woodcomb wasn't an agent; she wasn't trained for this. And she was Carmichael's sister. If she didn't like Sarah, the cover girlfriend, Woodcomb might use her position of power to request a different agent. And Sarah didn't want that to happen-she wanted to stay on this assignment. So she needed to make a good impression.

And to do that, she needed to be on time, Sarah thought as she glanced at her watch. Taking one more look at herself, she flicked away a speck of mascara from her cheek and grabbed her purse.

A quick twenty-minute drive in the Honda the CIA had arranged for her-she stayed in a luxury apartment but drove a Honda? What the fuck?-brought her to the restaurant where she was meeting Eleanor Woodcomb. This was just a "get to know you" meeting. The following Monday, Dr. Woodcomb would have a formal briefing with Sarah and Casey about the Intersect and what they should watch out for.

Walking into the restaurant, Sarah looked around. Standing by the hostess stand was a tall woman with long, dark brown hair. She would be gorgeous if she didn't look worried and nervous.

"Eleanor?" Sarah asked, taking a few steps to close the distance between them.

"Sarah?" The older woman's eyes ran over Sarah, then she smiled. "It's Ellie, actually. Hi!"

The friendliness was a surprise. Sarah paused and then smiled back quickly. "Ellie? It's good to meet you."

"Yeah, you, too," Ellie said, her smile firmly in place. "Let's get a table so we can start talking, okay?"

As Ellie turned to the hostess, Sarah worked to adjust her expectations. This friendly, charismatic woman was Charles Carmichael's sister? Yes, of course there was a definite physical resemblance. And she had some of what Carmichael had, the sense of here was someone who was smart and talented and knew what they were doing. But she was just so . . . approachable. Open. It was a bit jarring.

As they were escorted to their table and seated on sleek wooden chairs, Sarah told herself to remember that Ellie was a civilian. She wasn't an agent, she didn't know what was required of people who were spies. So being cheerful and disarming was just who this woman was. Sarah couldn't let that surprise her or make her complacent. Too much was riding on this for Sarah to make mistakes just because it would be easy to like Ellie Woodcomb.

"So, I have to say, you're not what I expected."

Sarah blinked. "I'm not?" she asked, feeling thrown despite her mental advice to stay alert.

Ellie nodded. "You're not at all Chuck's type. Well, not the type of girl he used to get crushes on from his comic books and movies."

"Well, being Chuck's girlfriend is just my cover. I'm really here to protect him," Sarah said, hearing a crisp note in her voice.

Looking chastened, Ellie swallowed and then nodded. "Yes, of course."

And now Sarah felt like an asshole. She looked down at the menu, not really seeing the words on the thick white paper. Perhaps because Ellie was a civilian, she should put things on that level. Talk to her not as an agent, but . . . but as her brother's girlfriend. Or at least as a friend to Ellie. There was no harm in being friendly.

Lowering her menu, Sarah cleared her throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . ."

She didn't quite know how to finish that sentence, but fortunately Ellie stepped in. "It's just a weird situation," the older woman said, setting aside her own menu. "And I didn't help by judging you right off. So I apologize, too." Ellie gave Sarah a smile. "Let's start over, okay?"

There was something about Ellie Woodcomb that made Sarah relax a little. She smiled back and nodded. "Yeah, okay. So I'm not Chuck's type, huh?"

"Not the version of Chuck that I know best," Ellie said. "Which was a nerdy twelve-year-old who was scared of actual girls. Back then, the only girls he talked about were brunettes: Kitty Pryde, Lara Croft . . ."

Sarah had no idea who those women were. Even as she racked her brain while they placed their orders, she couldn't figure out who they were. And she was also thrown by Ellie's off-hand comment about the Chuck she knew best being twelve years old. It was a bit unorthodox, but Sarah decided to ask Ellie flat out about that.

"I'm sorry, but . . . the Chuck you know best is twelve years old?"

Ellie blew out a breath. "It's a long story. To make it shorter, I haven't really had any contact with my brother since he graduated from high school. And before that, he was in boarding school."

Carmichael's personnel file hadn't contained any real details of his life before the CIA. Of course the file had the basic facts: birthdate and birthplace, his college degrees and when he had received them. Nothing about his family or how he had grown up. And not knowing that made her curiosity spike. Even though the details weren't pertinent to this assignment, she felt like she had to ask.

"I didn't know he went to boarding school," Sarah said, taking a sip of water from her glass.

"Yeah, when he was thirteen, Chuck won a scholarship." Ellie smiled fondly. "He was-is, actually-brilliant. But there wasn't any money to allow for trips home, or for me to go visit him, especially once I started college and then med school. When he was still in school, we stayed in touch. But once he started working and with our equally crazy schedules . . . we kind of fell out of touch. There were phone calls once in a blue moon and cards on my birthday, but he . . ." The smile that Sarah thought was permanent faded from Ellie's face. And her brown eyes were shadowed, filled with a sadness that Sarah didn't understand but could feel.

After a moment, Ellie gave her hair a shake and kept talking, her voice a bit quiet. "And then, three months ago, he came to visit me and told me about this special assignment he had volunteered for. One that he needed my help with." Ellie smiled, even though her voice sounded a bit choked. "He's my little brother. Of course I said yes."

Sarah had to look away. Because there was no "of course" decisions in her life. There was no one like Chuck or Carmichael, or whatever the hell she was calling him at the moment, in Sarah's life. No one got a free pass from her, without explanations or reasons.

"So . . . so you knew who he worked for?" Sarah asked slowly, latching on to the first question her mind came up with.

Ellie nodded. "He told me when he got recruited. 'Just in case you ever need to know,' he said. Like I didn't already realize how much he had changed-telling me that he was a spy just explained it all." She let out a small, half-bitter, half-amused laugh. "My nerdy little brother became some combination of James Bond and Tony Stark. Became Charles Carmichael instead of being Chuck."

"You sound like-" Sarah stopped, but then decided to plow ahead with her observation, hoping she wouldn't regret it. "You sound like you're unhappy about how he's changed."

"I don't know how I feel," Ellie said, leaning back in her chair. "How much of it was just Chuck growing up? How much was not being around for all that, to see the changes happen slowly instead of getting surprised by them all at once? I don't know. I guess I'll find out, with seeing how Chuck-or Charles, but I can't get used to calling him that-handles this fake personality thing."

The waiter setting down their orders-salad for Sarah, soup and sandwich for Ellie-gave Sarah a moment to think. To consider if she should follow what her instincts were telling her to do. But even though logically she decided against it, she found herself opening her mouth and saying, "I worked with Charles a few months ago. He's an amazing agent, yes. But . . . but I felt like he was a good man, too." Sarah gave Ellie a small, crooked smile. "As much as anyone can be in this line of work."

"Really?" Ellie asked, her eyes wide. "I mean, I'm predisposed to think the best of Chuck, but you-you thought that?"

Sarah nodded, feeling her cheeks go pink. "It's part of the reason I was willing to take this assignment. That and Charles requested me, too."

If it was possible, the smile on Ellie's face brightened. "Thank you, Sarah, for telling me that. It's good to hear."

Feeling a bit flustered, Sarah nodded and then stuffed some lettuce into her mouth. Maybe that way, she'd stop saying embarrassing things she hadn't meant to let out.

XXX

Bright and early on Monday morning, Sarah drove her piece-of-shit Honda-she really needed to put in a request to have her Porsche shipped from D.C.-to a strip mall on Burbank Boulevard. The CIA had outfitted a base there, using a frozen yogurt shop as the entrance to Project Bartowski's home.

After letting herself into the Orange Orange, passing overly-cheerful posters of happy people sharing frozen yogurt, Sarah used the keypad in the freezer to gain access to the base. Walking down the stairs, she noted with satisfaction that the CIA hadn't skimped on this, at least. State-of-the-art equipment lined the walls of the main room, which was clearly designed as a combination workspace and conference area. Further explorations revealed a well-stocked armoury and shooting range, an exercise room and dojo, and even a few holding cells.

It was everything a spy needed to do their job. She was already looking forward to using the shooting range, but that would have to wait until later. Because any minute now, Ellie Woodcomb would arrive to discuss the medical logistics of the Intersect.

By the time she realized she was nibbling her lower lip, Sarah just knew she had eaten off her lipstick. She made herself stop her nervous habit and concentrated on turning on the computers and getting the video screens warmed up. She had nothing to feel nervous about. From her lunch with Ellie, Sarah had come away completely confident in Ellie's medical skills. It appeared that brains ran in the Carmichael family.

Heavy footsteps made her pause and look up to see Major John Casey, NSA, coming down the stairs. He eyed her, his gaze assessing, then nodded. "Walker."

"Casey," she said, turning and holding her hand out to him. "It's good to meet you."

He shook her hand and grunted. "Gotta say, this is the most cockamamie assignment I've ever gotten."

"I don't know about that," Sarah said, leaning back against the conference table. "Didn't you spend six months living in the walls of Alejandro Goya's mansion in Costa Gravas, trying to assassinate him? And failing?"

"That's real spy work. Not this fuckin' sci fi movie we're in now," Casey said, taking a seat and leaning back in his chair. "And by the way, I've heard about you, too. About how you get tangled up with your partners. Just so you know, sister, I ain't interested."

Even as she narrowed her eyes to glare at him, she wondered in the back of her mind if he was only referring to Bryce, or if somehow, her liaison with Carmichael had gotten out. "Thanks for the warning, but believe me, it's completely unnecessary."

Casey let out a small harrumph and shrugged. "Long as we're clear on that. Besides, you're gonna be Carmichael's girl toy."

"His name is going to be Chuck Bartowski," Sarah said. "You can't slip up and call him Carmichael."

"Relax, Walker. I know my job."

Before she had the time to dream up some creative, profanity-filled metaphor for just how much doubt she had on that subject, Ellie arrived, wearing scrubs and carrying a stack of files.

"Hi!" she said, smiling brightly at Casey who had immediately come to his feet. "I'm Dr. Ellie Woodcomb. You're Major Casey, right?" She juggled the folders and held her hand out to him.

To Sarah's delight, Casey looked a bit dumbstruck as he shook Ellie's hand. "Yes, ma'am."

Ellie grinned and set down her papers. "Hey, Sarah. You look great."

As Ellie sorted her papers, Casey moved towards Sarah. "You already met her?" he asked, jerking a thumb towards Ellie. "Trying to cut me out, Walker?"

"I had lunch with Ellie on Saturday. To help with my cover. If you hadn't dragged your heels on coming here, you could have joined us," Sarah said sweetly, barely resisting the urge to bat her eyelashes at him.

"Damn California and all the hippies," Casey muttered.

"Okay, I'm ready," Ellie said. "Sarah and-what's your first name, Major Casey?"

As Casey all but stuttered out his first name like a schoolboy, Sarah bit her lip again, but this time to hold back her grin.

"Sarah and John, take a seat and I'll start explaining what you need to know." Ellie sounded eager, so Sarah didn't delay in sitting.

"I've been told you both received some technical data on the Intersect," Ellie said, launching right in. "And that's all well and good, but what I'm worried about is how Chuck will deal with the Intersect in his head in addition to the secondary personality." She made a face. "Although honestly, it's more about suppressing his memories than anything else. But anyway, today I'm going to explain what I'll be doing to ensure Chuck's mental health and how you can help me with that."

Ellie handed each of them a folder. "As part of Chuck's new personality, it's been established that about a year ago, he was in a traumatic car crash. Between the physical and mental recovery, he had to leave behind his old life and moved back here to Los Angeles, to be close to me and his best friend, Morgan."

"It's a good way to explain the scars and general trauma that any spy picks up over the years," Sarah said, giving Ellie a small, impressed smile.

"Yep, smart plan," Casey said, voicing his agreement.

"Thank you-that was my contribution to Chuck's history," Ellie said, her cheeks flushing slightly. "In addition, this lets me, in the role of an overprotective big sister, run bimonthly neurological scans on Chuck. That's how I'll be tracking the changes in Chuck's brain that the Intersect will exert upon him. But that's only part of it."

Sarah took that as a cue to open the folder. She ran her eyes over the papers inside as Ellie explained the different ways that neurological trauma manifested itself.

"We know from the previous agent that the Intersect causes headaches, dizziness, and some slight disorientation as the information is fed to the individual. However, if Chuck complains of any of the symptoms on this list when he hasn't had to use the Intersect in the previous twenty-four hours, that's a problem," Ellie said, holding up the list that included numbness in extremities, slurred speech, and-

"Lack of libido?" Casey asked, smirking. "Think that's Walker's department."

"Are you sure it's not yours, Casey? Seeing how I felt when I saw you walking in here?"

The words were out of Sarah's mouth before she knew it. Ellie did a double-take, then frowned.

"Listen, Walker, just because I can resist your whole Spy Barbie routine doesn't mean I'm a fuckin' eunuch-"

"Enough!"

Both Sarah and Casey turned slowly to look at Ellie, who was clutching the piece of paper in her hands. "The last thing I want to be thinking about is my little brother's sex life, so this conversation is just as uncomfortable for me as it is for you. But here's the thing-Chuck is counting on all three of us to keep him alive and healthy." Ellie's voice gained strength and her eyes burned as she looked back and forth between the two spies. "And that means stupid fights like this are stupid. So stop it, now."

Now she knew how a puppy felt when a kitten batted at its nose. Sarah swallowed and nodded. "You're right, Ellie." Looking over at Casey, who looked equally chastised, she said, "I apologize."

Casey nodded. "Sorry. I forgot myself."

"Good," Ellie said, putting down the piece of paper and smoothing it out. "Now we can get back to work."

Sarah knew she had been taking this seriously. But seeing sweet-natured Ellie lose her temper made her want to buckle down even more. Make sure she was fully prepared, since after all, it was more than just Carmichael's life in her hands for the next year. It was his health, too. If anything happened to his brain, it wouldn't matter if they had spent the whole year protecting him from physical injury.

And for Ellie's sake, Sarah didn't want anything to happen to Carmichael. So she paid attention and was gratified to see that Casey did as well.

It would seem that Ellie Woodcomb had unexpected depths-not unlike her brother.

XXX

With a gasp, Sarah sat up in bed, her hand clutching the throwing knife that was always tucked underneath her pillow. Before her brain had caught up with her body, she instinctively threw the knife towards the far wall, burying it in the built-in alarm clock.

She blinked, staring as the knife vibrated slightly, then flopped back against the pillows and tried to catch her breath. Right now, she was grateful that she was living in the apartment side of the building instead of the hotel-she wouldn't have to explain the broken alarm clock to the housekeeping staff in the morning.

"Fuck," she said softly, still vexed over losing control like that. She couldn't remember the last time she had reacted like that upon waking. But given the dream she had been having, it was little wonder, really.

Running her hands through her hair, Sarah tried to remember just what had sent her on the path to destroying a harmless alarm clock. The dream had started like several others had over the last six months: back in that hotel room in the Dominican Republic, kissing Carmichael. Chuck. Charles.

Carmichael, she told herself. Not Charles and definitely not Chuck. She had to remember that. Within the next few days, she would be meeting Chuck Bartowski and acting like she was interested in dating him. And at some point after that, Casey and herself would reveal the truth about the strange abilities Chuck had now.

Six days ago, Ellie had flown to Washington to supervise the procedures that would turn Charles Carmichael, CIA agent, into Chuck Bartowski, Human Intersect. According to her phone call earlier today, everything seemed to be going well. The Intersect was working properly and Chuck had no memories of being anyone other than Chuck Bartowski. They were due to fly back to California tomorrow, and then at some point not long thereafter, Sarah would have a meet cute with Chuck and start the ball rolling.

Tossing back the covers, Sarah got out of bed and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that gave her a view of the ocean. It was four in the morning and the sky was beginning to lighten as the sun approached the horizon. The beach eight stories below was empty, the waves slowly rolling in and out.

It was tempting to get dressed and go for an early-morning run. But Sarah knew that she couldn't keep running from her tangled thoughts. Her dream and the knife in the alarm clock proved that. As much as she hated having to consider her emotions, it seemed like her subconscious mind was done with being subtle.

Ever since Ellie had left, she had been dreaming about That Night nearly every night. Only the first time had she gotten to enjoy the memory the whole way through. Each subsequent dream featured some kind of twist, ranging from Carmichael turning into Bryce to him leaving her a very different kind of note for the morning after.

Tonight's dream, though . . . they had been in the middle of it, Carmichael thrusting up inside her, when suddenly she was hanging from the edge of a window-washer's cart and he had been looking down at her, holding his hand out to her. She didn't know how she had gotten out there and she was very, very worried about being naked in this predicament. Carmichael, his hair without product and blowing in the wind, had been holding his hand out to her, shouting for her to grab on. But she had been too worried about hiding her breasts from him and then she was falling.

Even a freshman-year psych major could diagnose what the dream meant-it was so obvious she was nearly rolling her eyes. She was nervous about working with Carmichael, nervous about what would happen if the Chuck identity didn't hold up and Carmichael got hurt.

But she couldn't let that interfere with doing her job. Nerves were no justification for fucking up. She just had to stay focused and remember what was on the line: the CIA's fight against Fulcrum, the safety of thousands of people . . . and the life of Charles Carmichael.

Gazing out the windows, Sarah considered just how much her life had changed since Bryce had taken that solo assignment. If he hadn't done that, she wouldn't be here now, preparing for her first long-term undercover work. Wouldn't be looking ahead to the next year, with its challenges and potential successes . . .

Oh, who the hell was she kidding? She was nervous as fuck about this mission, about facing Charles Carmichael-who wouldn't be Charles Carmichael. Because clearly, her body wanted him. One night wasn't enough. But for the next year, for all intents and purposes, he would be her asset. And there were rules about assets and handlers-rules that she couldn't break, even if "Chuck" was an agent underneath.

Although her body was definitely interested in him, there was no way that anything could happen between herself and Carmichael this year. First off, there was no guarantee that Chuck Bartowski might be interested in her. Hell, there was no evidence that Carmichael even liked her for that matter. Either way, this wasn't something she would be doing. She'd gone longer than a year without sex. She could do it again. All she had to do was focus on her job, improve her skills, and the year would fly by.

So what if her cover job was working in a frozen yogurt shop? So what if she had to work with John Casey, a man she didn't trust as far as she could throw him? And yeah, there was bound to be some awkwardness on her end, working with someone that she had once slept with. But people did that all the time-it couldn't be that hard.

She was worrying for nothing and missing out on valuable sleep. If she went back to bed, she could get another two hours before getting up for a workout. She had a lot to get done at Castle-what she and Casey had nicknamed the base-to prep for the arrival of Chuck: final polishing of her cover legend, firearms training, and some lame food service exam that she was required to take by the state of California to work at the Orange Orange.

Turning away from the windows, Sarah walked over and yanked the knife from the alarm clock, ignoring the small shower of sparks. She carried the knife over to her bed and slipped it back under her pillow before crawling under the covers.

As she stared up at the ceiling, she could feel the nerves in the pit of her stomach. She had never felt them so strongly, not even before her first-ever assignment. But she knew how to direct her negative emotions, like anger, fear and worry, into action. She'd start putting that into practice tomorrow.

Sarah closed her eyes and rolled over in bed, curling into a ball. She rubbed her feet together and ran through the meditation exercises that helped her calm down when it was hard to sleep. Slowly they started to work as she felt sleepiness fall over her. And her last thought before drifting off was that at least with such a short period to sleep, she probably wouldn't have the dream again.

XXX

Narrowing her eyes, Sarah sighted along the barrel of her Smith & Wesson 5906. She slowly breathed out, then with no hesitation she squeezed the trigger five times, emptying half the magazine and creating a hole in the paper target at chest level, visible even from a hundred yards away. Then she sighted again and put five bullets in the target's head, before setting down her weapon and hitting the button to bring the target forward.

Sarah pulled the paper target off the clip and eyed the bullet holes critically. Then she placed the target over her two previous ones, feeling somewhat gratified that all the holes lined up.

At least her aim was still true, even if the rest of her felt somewhat shaky.

The problem with putting a throwing knife through her alarm clock was that it failed to function according to its intended purpose after such treatment. Namely, the fucking thing didn't wake her up when she needed it. As a result, Sarah had overslept and had to skip her run this morning. An extra-large cup of coffee made her feel awake yet jittery, and she just hadn't been able to concentrate today. Eventually, she'd given up on paperwork and research and taken advantage of the treadmill in Castle's exercise room.

With some of her nervous energy dispelled, she had chosen to work on her marksmanship. Casey was acclaimed for his ability with a sniper rifle, but Sarah knew she was no slouch. And she was determined to get better. If Casey stopped acting like an asshole, she might even ask him for some advice.

From what she had seen so far, thought, Casey didn't believe in being anything other than an asshole. When Ellie was around, they both were on their best behavior. But with her absence this week, they both had been sniping at each other. Sarah knew they were acting like children, but something about him brought out her competitive nature and made her want to have the last word. It wasn't exactly conducive to building a good working relationship. It was something that needed to get fixed, soon, though. They needed to present a united front to Chuck.

Pulling off her ear protection and shooting glasses, Sarah set them aside and slid her gun into the holster at the small of her back. She grabbed her targets and walked out of the shooting range to look for Casey. It wouldn't hurt to attempt ending the deep freeze between them.

She found him cleaning a row of weapons in the armoury, something that seemed to be his favorite pastime. Casually, Sarah dropped her targets on the table and went to get a rag and solvent to clean her Smith & Wesson.

When she came back, Casey had already picked up the targets to look them over. "Searching for what I'm doing wrong?" Sarah asked lightly, taking a seat across from him.

Casey shrugged one shoulder. "Not much. You're consistent, I'll say that. But shooting on the range and shooting in the field are about as similar as a woman and a drag queen."

"Yeah, I know," Sarah said, disassembling her gun and trying not to snap back at him. "Any advice?"

Her request definitely threw him a little, but he set down her targets and started listing off different techniques. Sarah listened and asked a few questions as they both worked on their guns. And to her surprise, it didn't feel that uncomfortable. Perhaps this would work out.

"So why d'you think Carmichael volunteered for this assignment?"

Sarah shrugged. "I only worked with him once, for a few days. Didn't you spend some time with him during the planning stage?"

"Yeah, we did. But he's not exactly Mr. Warm and Friendly," Casey said, spitting on the barrel of a Desert Eagle and then rubbing a polishing cloth over the metal.

"Spit? Really?" Sarah made a face at just how unhygienic that gun was now and made a mental note to never use it unless absolutely necessary.

"Hey, it works," Casey said, spreading his hands out.

Rolling her eyes, she focused back on meticulously cleaning her gun, only for Casey to interrupt her. "So?"

"So what?" Sarah asked as she looked down the barrel, searching for any residue.

"Why'd Carmichael take this gig? He could pretty much do anything. Hell, they've all but got a deputy director's office set up for him, whenever he's done with the field." Casey paused. "Seems curious to me."

"Curious?" Sarah asked, looking at Casey and taking in how his jaw was set.

"Curious, fishy, take your pick. Everyone knows the Intersect's been a failure-throwing one of our best at it don't mean it'll become a success."

Carefully placing her gun on the cloth she had spread on the table, Sarah searched for a response. Finding out that Casey had the same kind of thoughts as she had, when she had learned about Carmichael and the Intersect project, was a bit eye-opening. They seemed to be coming from the same starting point, at least. And Sarah had to admit, she still wondered just how and why Carmichael ended up with this assignment.

Instead of voicing any of that, Sarah shrugged. She wasn't exactly ready to let Casey into her innermost thoughts. "Now that Carmichael is Chuck Bartowski, I guess we'll just have to live with our questions. But I didn't get the sense that he's an evil mastermind or a traitor."

"Nah, he's a Boy Scout. A stressed-out one, but still a Boy Scout," Casey said, picking up his gun again. "And he knows his shit. Unlike the Bartowski character."

"Hiding in plain sight," Sarah reminded him.

"Turning us into glorified babysitters," Casey grumbled.

"I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to something stable for a while," Sarah said. She couldn't help smirking a little. "At your age, you've got to welcome that, too."

"Watch it, Blondie," Casey said, his voice gruff. But somehow, she sensed that it was all bark and (almost) no bite. Sarah grinned and went back to her weapon and Casey did the same, a relatively comfortable silence falling between them.

XXX

For a few days, all was quiet. Ellie contacted them that Chuck was settling in and had already gotten to work as a Nerd Herd supervisor at the Burbank Buy More, located in the same strip mall as the Orange Orange. Since Casey wouldn't start his cover job until Chuck had been told about the Intersect, for now he was in Castle.

To keep her boredom at bay, Sarah worked a few shifts at the Orange Orange, being careful to time them for when Chuck wasn't working, just in case. It was important that the meet cute, scheduled to happen at any moment, go off as planned. Which meant no accidental meetings. But as each day passed without word of the operation getting started, Sarah got more bored and more edgy.

Apparently, the CIA had set up some kind of block on the Intersect, so that Chuck wouldn't be able to tap into it until everything was good to go. Ellie had explained that it would let them have time to evaluate how well the cover personality had stuck before complicating things with the Intersect feeding intelligence to Chuck. At some point, the block would be removed, Chuck would tap into the Intersect, and everything would get started.

Which left them waiting. And there was only so much time Sarah could spend in the Orange Orange or in Castle.

Late in the morning, a week and a half after Ellie and Chuck returned to LA, Sarah was working on the heavy bag in Castle's exercise room. She was focusing on getting her legs up higher on her spin kicks, which meant she was a sweaty, panting mess when Casey strolled into the room. She gave the bag one final, everything-she-had kick, then turned to face him. "Hey," she said before gulping down some water.

"Got some rage building up, Walker?" Casey asked with a raised eyebrow.

Rather than reply, she shrugged. Casey didn't need to know that the waiting was starting to get to her.

"Carmichael-"

"We gotta call him Chuck now, Casey. Need to get in the habit so we don't slip up," Sarah interrupted.

Casey rolled his eyes. "Fine. _Chuck_ got the email last night."

It was only thanks to all those spy reflexes that she didn't do a spit-take. "What?"

"The block on the Intersect got removed last night. Time for you to go bat your eyes," Casey said, running his eyes over her. "After a shower, though."

"Oh, thanks, Casey. Like I'd fucking skip that," Sarah said, toeing off her sneakers before dashing to the showers. It was Thursday and that meant Chuck had a one o'clock lunch. It was nearly twelve now. She'd have to hurry if she didn't want to miss him.

A few quick stretches while she started the shower had to suffice for her cool-down. Washing up quickly, Sarah got out of the shower and started getting ready. The outfit choices in Castle's wardrobe weren't really her taste, but it'd have to do for now.

In a brown tweed skirt, pink button-down and coordinating heels, she felt like a secretary. Sarah made a face at herself in the mirror as she finished applying her makeup. She'd rather just wear the Orange Orange outfit, as a way to establish retail drone solidarity, but perhaps looking a bit dressed up would help make more of an impression.

And why was she thinking about this so much?

Sarah paused, mascara wand in mid-air, as the thought occurred to her. Why was she worrying about her clothes? She could wear anything. And what she wore wouldn't matter, if he was as much of a geek as Ellie had described. A pretty woman smiling at him would be enough.

But she wasn't just some pretty woman. She had to convince him that she was girlfriend material. And Sarah Walker had never been a girlfriend.

For a moment, she stared at herself in the mirror, wondering just how that simple fact had slipped her notice. Why the hell hadn't she done prep work on that, instead of worrying about her shooting? Read some magazines, figured out how to flirt with someone that she wasn't trying to get intel from?

Shit, she had to move. She didn't have time for this. Closing up the mascara and tossing it into her makeup bag, Sarah scrambled to finish and get out of Castle. Through the miracle of small blessings, Casey chose to stay silent as he handed her the broken cell phone for the meet cute. She nodded to him, trying to look cool and collected as she scrambled up the stairs to the exit.

Her heels clomped softly against the asphalt parking lot as she approached the Buy More. Just outside the doors, Sarah paused and took a deep breath. She gripped the cell phone in her hand a bit tighter as she gave herself a mental pep talk. This was something she had done a hundred times before. All she had to do was walk in and make an impression. She could do that. Go slow, get the ball into his court. Make Chuck come to her.

Sarah straightened her shoulders and tossed her hair. "Piece of cake," she said softly. Then she walked up to the automatic doors and waited for them to open for her.

End, Chapter 3


	4. Chapter 4

Electronics stores were not a place that she had done much shopping in the past. Any tech she needed for missions would be issued to her, and while she did have a personal cell phone, it wasn't exactly top-of-the-line. If she hadn't spent time looking over the floorplan of the Burbank Buy More and reviewing security tapes from the store, she'd feel pretty overwhelmed.

But it was easy enough to make her way back to the Nerd Herd desk, located roughly in the center of the store. It was a round desk, open at one end to allow members of the Nerd Herd to step inside. As she approached, she felt a tingle as she observed two men standing at the desk. One, in a green Buy More polo shirt and graced with a full beard, Sarah identified as Morgan Grimes, best friend to one Chuck Bartowski. So that made the other man the former Charles Carmichael.

Her eyes took in his overall appearance as she got closer. His hair had grown out a good bit and was free of product, revealing messy, soft-looking curls. His shoulders were slightly slumped, like he felt awkward about his height and hunched over to take up less space. And unless she was wrong, it definitely appeared that he had let himself go somewhat . . . his body looked a bit rounder and less defined. Although it could be the thin cotton dress shirt and ill-fitting, baggy pants that was making him look a bit doughy.

When she got closer, she could hear his friend talking. " . . . Vicki Vale!"

Who was Vicki Vale?

"Vicki Vale, Vicki Vale, Vick-Vick-Vicki-" Chuck said, his voice slightly higher-pitched than Carmichael's. But then he glanced up and caught sight of her, the phone he was holding between his ear and his shoulder fell onto the desk as he straightened up, his eyes widening.

It was all she could do not to gape at him as well. Because this fresh-faced, wide-eyed man could not be Charles Carmichael. Could not.

For one thing, he was clean-shaven. Not even a hint of stubble darkened his jawline. It made him look younger . . . more innocent. And that was reinforced by his eyes. Pure brown pools, full of kindness and hope yet also a touch of sadness. Looking into his eyes, so different from the hooded gaze of Charles Carmichael, made Sarah question if she was missing something. If the CIA decided to play a trick on her and this wasn't really Charles Carmichael, just someone who looked incredibly like him and was playing the part of Chuck Bartowski.

And now this was getting a tiny bit awkward. And really fucking crazy.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," Sarah said, trying not to stumble over her words. Trying to remember she was supposed to be flirting with Chuck enough to make him realize she was interested in him. She gave him a slightly toothy smile.

"Hi. No, no, not at all! Um, that's from Batman," Chuck said, looking embarrassed and flustered and also disbelieving. Like he couldn't imagine why she was talking to him and smiling at him.

Which was frankly adorable. So she couldn't help teasing him a little. "I'm not sure that explains why you were saying it, though."

He let out a nervous little laugh and rubbed his hands against his pants. "How-What can I help you with?"

"Well . . . Chuck," she said, making a show of searching him for a nametag and also examining his chest a little bit, "I have this cell phone and it's not working . . ." She held up the broken cell phone and watched as Chuck's face brightened a little.

"Oh, yeah, the Intellicell-an old favorite of mine." He took the phone from her and got to work on it, explaining what he was doing as he worked. The change was noticeable: give him something he could do and he became competent and professional. It made her think of Carmichael a little and she smiled as she watched him.

"So there you go . . ." he said, holding the phone out to her and letting his voice trail off.

"Sarah," she said, taking the phone and flipping it open, but glancing at him quickly to see if he had any reaction to her name.

There wasn't. He just smiled. "There you go, Sarah."

"Thanks a lot," she said, smiling at both Chuck and Morgan. "You geeks are good."

As one, pained expressions crossed both men's faces. "Nerds, actually," Chuck said, gesturing towards the sign over his head. "Because . . . Nerd Herd."

"Ahh," Sarah said, searching for some kind of witty comeback, only for a distraught-looking father to dash up to the desk with a video camera. Although Chuck cut a quick, regretful look at her, he almost immediately turned to help the man.

Sarah watched, feeling impressed at how Chuck marshalled the resources of the Buy More into recreating the ballet recital that didn't get recorded. During the hubbub, Morgan sidled up to her. "So . . . I couldn't miss how you're eyeing my best friend. Who's a prince among mere mortals, if you hadn't already guessed." The short, bearded man smiled at her. "He moved back to Los Angeles not too long ago. I bet you're a newcomer, too, am I right?"

When Sarah nodded, Morgan broke into a wide smile. "I knew it. Chuck's great. As his go-to number-one best friend, let me just say that you should hang around-he's off for lunch in five."

"I'm sorry, I can't stay-I have a job interview," Sarah said, making up an excuse on the spot. She eyed Morgan, then reached into her purse and pulled out a card case. "But . . . if you wouldn't mind giving Chuck my card . . ."

"Say no more, my lady!" Morgan said, plucking the card from her fingers. "I will guard this with my life."

"I don't know if that's necessary," Sarah said with a small grin. "But thank you. It was nice to meet you both. Bye."

She turned and walked towards the door, the smile dropping from her face as she tried to start adjusting a worldview that had tilted on its axis. As she walked through the doors, she couldn't help glancing over her shoulder, watching as Chuck clapped for the tall ballerina.

Then she faced forward and picked up her pace, so she could find someplace private to freak out a little.

XXX

Over the next two days, Sarah did everything short of watch the surveillance video from the Buy More to relive the encounter with Carmichael-with Chuck.

She had to remember that: he was Chuck now. With so many clear signals that Chuck was very different from Carmichael, she didn't really know why she kept mistaking Chuck for Carmichael. Maybe it was because she had no idea that Carmichael's past included someone who acted like Chuck and it made her wonder why he had buried that part of himself. Why he'd turned himself into the cool, debonair Charles Carmichael when it meant leaving behind his sister and his best friend.

But wondering about this wouldn't let her focus on the here and now. So Sarah did her best to shove aside those questions and concentrate on Chuck. Who was playing remarkably hard to get. She had expected to get a phone call that night-or at least a text message. But instead, there had been nothing. It would seem that she hadn't done her job well enough . . . and she'd have to risk looking desperate in order to keep things moving.

It was funny: the last thing she had expected was to wait by the phone for Chuck Bartowski to call her. Based on what Ellie had told her and the brief personality description she had read, she had thought that Chuck the Nerd Herd supervisor would leap at the opportunity to date someone like her. But it would seem that Chuck had hidden depths.

The more she thought about him, in fact, the curiouser she got. Just what was Chuck Bartowski's story? How would he present himself to a stranger on a date? What sort of man was he? Her initial impression had been nice, sweet, a bit of a pushover. But was that correct?

Sarah knew that his appearance had definitely thrown her: no stubble and the mop of curls was a big change from how Carmichael had looked when they met. But what really amazed her was how different his body language was. The hunched shoulders, the different tone of voice, how he wasn't afraid to look her in the eye even when he was nervous . . . add it all up and it would be an impressive performance if it wasn't real. If it had been Carmichael pretending to be Chuck, instead of Carmichael being Chuck.

When day three began with no contact, Sarah resolved to take matters into her own hands. She dressed a bit more casually, pairing jeans and a tank top with a dark brown suede jacket. Then she crossed the parking lot again and walked into the Buy More.

This time when she approached the Nerd Herd desk, Chuck had his face buried in his crossed arms on the top of the desk. For a moment, she was tempted to touch his hair and see what it felt like, but then reason returned and she lightly tapped on the bell.

She could see him brace himself as he sat up, only for a huge smile to flash across his face for a moment. "Sarah! Um, hello. Again. Oh, more phone trouble?" he asked, holding up a screwdriver.

God, he was so fucking disarming. Sarah had to smile at him as she went in for the kill. "Yeah, I think so. My phone doesn't seem to accept incoming calls . . . because I never got one from you." Complete with flirty shy eyes, there was no way for him to miss this message. Not if he was as smart as everyone seemed to think.

It was really remarkable how his eyes totally gave him away. How she could see the disbelief and shock bloom, only to be replaced by a complete, utter happiness that went with his reawakened smile. And while the disbelief didn't seem to go away completely, he still seemed thrilled. He even stood up straight.

They agreed to get dinner that night, Chuck being chivalrous and telling her he'd make all the arrangements even though she had been the one to ask him out. And she made a point of putting his number into her phone, right in front of him, which made him stutter a little.

Honestly, it was kinda cute.

"So . . . so I'll pick you up at seven," Chuck said, sounding completely dumbfounded that this was actually happening. "Unless you call me and say sorry, you suddenly remember you have to regrout your bathtub."

"Did someone actually use that as an excuse to break a date with you?" Sarah asked, looking at him curiously. He shrugged and gave her an embarrassed, slightly sad smile, and Sarah shook her head. "On behalf of my gender, I apologize." She smiled at him. "And I promise, since I just moved into my apartment, my bathtub's grout is in excellent condition."

Chuck looked a bit confused and Sarah found herself wishing she was better at telling jokes. "I'll see you tonight," she said before hurrying out of the store.

XXX

It was when she was fastening her bulletproof vest that Sarah realized that dating for a spy was different than for normal people. Right now, Chuck was trying to decide what to wear or cleaning out his car, while she was putting on protective body armor and preparing a low-level poison to go on her hair sticks.

But it was necessary: she couldn't take a gun on a date but she wasn't going to go out with Chuck and not carry what she needed in order to protect him. Besides, this was just a cover date, a way to begin the relationship with Chuck. To soften the blow when she and Casey told him about the Intersect and explained what they needed him to do, so he'd be more willing to help them out. Not that it mattered, since he really was a CIA agent, not that he could know that, but-

Sarah rubbed her forehead. The more she thought about this, the more her brain hurt. She just had to remember that somehow, it would all work out. Even though Carmichael would have six different plans and multiple contingencies, there came a point where you just had trust that you could figure a way to make everything happen. At least, that was the conclusion she had come to, after trying to be like Carmichael and feeling like she had fucked up more.

Tonight was just a date. Simply getting to know each other, learning more about Chuck's backstory and hoping she could be interesting enough for him to not completely resist when the time came to tell him about the Intersect. Which would probably be around the third date.

As she put up her hair, Sarah felt a stab of guilt. The poor guy. He'd probably be thinking about having sex, as someone did on the third date. And instead, he'd get introduced to who she really was, not to mention Casey the large NSA agent, and they would explain how Chuck was now U.S. Government property.

At least there was a while before she had to come clean with him and wreck whatever kind of first impression she had made. And she was going to do her best to give him a good first date. Something memorable.

Not that he would remember it after the Intersect and the cover identity was taken out of his head . . .

Sarah groaned. And there was her headache again.

There wasn't time for this: it was five of seven, and Chuck struck her as the punctual type. So she picked up the pace, doing a final pass on her makeup and sitting down to slide on her boots. Just as she zipped up her second boot, a soft knock came on the door.

"Just a minute!" she called out, standing up and picking up her jacket and purse. Checking her appearance one last time, Sarah then turned to the door, opening it to reveal Chuck, wearing a crooked smile on his face and . . . holding flowers.

Suddenly, she was starting to get a much better sense of who Chuck Bartowski was. Because not many guys would bring flowers on a first date. At least . . . not any of the guys that she had ever dated.

The big, toothy smile she gave him felt so natural. "Hi, Chuck."

"Hi!" he said, his voice a bit breathless. "Wow. You-you look great. Amazing."

She ducked her head, then gave him a small smile. "You look great, too." She pointed at the flowers. "For me?"

"Oh! Yeah. Yes, these are for you," he said, holding the paper cone of flowers out to her. "My sister told me to bring them. Not that I wouldn't have thought of it, but she-she was really excited about tonight."

Taking the flowers, Sarah quirked an eyebrow at him. "And why's that?" she asked as she found a vase for the bouquet.

Chuck, in a gentlemanly move, stayed in the doorway, leaning a little against the doorjamb. "Honestly? I think now that she's married, the romance might be starting to wane a little. Although I don't know how, given who she's married to."

"Why-is she married to someone famous?" Sarah played dumb as she pulled on her jacket, not that she had to feign much interest in just who Ellie's husband was. So far, there hadn't been an opportunity to meet Devon Woodcomb.

"No," Chuck said with a laugh. "No, although he should be. Morgan and I call him Captain Awesome, although Ellie-that's my sister-hates that nickname."

She laughed softly, caught up in this story. "You really call him Captain Awesome?"

"Yep," Chuck said, moving back and keeping a respectful amount of space between them as she stepped out of her room and pulled the door shut behind her. "Everything he does is awesome. Open heart surgery, jumping out of planes . . . flossing."

He was so funny. She could already tell that she'd probably laugh more tonight than she had in a long time. Real laughter, not the faked kind to make a guy think you were interested in him. In fact, she was probably going to have to watch herself, so she didn't relax too much.

"And with a man like that, the romance is losing its bloom?"

"Maybe? I don't know-I'm close to Ellie, but ever since she got married, I've tried to give her a little space. The last thing she needs is her little brother around all the time, just because he's a-" He suddenly stopped and looked at his feet.

Sarah looked at him, wondering why he had cut himself off. "You're what?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"I'm . . . getting really hungry. How about you? I hope you like Mexican," Chuck said, a note of forced cheer in his voice.

"I do," Sarah said, even though part of her wanted to press him about what he had meant to say before he changed the subject. But she wanted to keep this mood going. This fun, breezy feeling that the date had started with. "I'm a big fan of salsa."

"For me, it's all about the guac," Chuck said, leading her into the elevator. "All creamy and cool and rich . . . and I swear I'm not one of those foodie types who has to describe their dinner in painstaking detail and take pictures of it."

Giving him a quick grin, she hit the button for the lobby. "Good, because I think foodies are a bit strange."

To her delight, he relaxed a little, his shoulders losing some of the tension that had crept into them. "They totally are," he said, starting to talk about the foodie cults and how his friend Morgan wanted to become a Benihana chef. And as they walked to his car, Sarah couldn't stop looking at him. Couldn't stop watching how he smiled and laughed. How his eyebrows moved up and down, punctuating what he was saying. And while he looked at her often, as if he was gauging her reactions and tailoring what he said to make her laugh and enjoy herself, Sarah was watching him even more.

XXX

"So what about you?"

Sarah paused as she lifted her margarita. "What about me?" So far, everything seemed to be going very well. Chuck had driven them, in his strange little work car, to a Mexican restaurant that featured a mariachi band, bottomless chips and salsa, and very good margaritas. She had just gotten her second drink when Chuck looked at her and asked his question.

"Yeah, you," he said, leaning forward a little, his hands folded together on the table. "I want to know about you."

Taking a quick sip as she gathered her thoughts, Sarah carefully lowered her glass. "There's not much to tell, really. I just moved here from D.C. And I've got a job now."

Chuck smiled brightly at her. "That's great! Congratulations."

"It's nothing special . . . I mean, it's just retail. Working at an Orange Orange. Right now, it's not about being ambitious, but about just starting over," Sarah said, feeling uncertain. She felt so fumbling, trying to talk about herself. That was why she had tried to keep Chuck talking, asking him for more details about his life. Because she wasn't used to someone being so interested in her.

But he was. She could tell by the way his eyes weren't looking away from hers, checking to see if everyone in the restaurant could see the hot woman he was with. No, he was just focused on her.

"Is that what's wrong with you? A lack of ambition? Because I have to admit, I've been sitting here trying to figure out what flaws you had-"

She couldn't help a small laugh at his teasing. "I have plenty."

He grinned back at her and continued. "I was pretty sure it was either you weren't funny or you were a cannibal. And I gotta admit, I was pulling for cannibal since I've never met one."

"I think we've talked long enough to know that you're the funny one," Sarah said, popping a salsa-laden chip into her mouth.

At her compliment, his face lit up with pleasure. He shifted in his side of the booth, then took a sip from his margarita. "So? Why did you move here, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I don't mind. I just got out of a long-term relationship and . . ." She raised her shoulders. "Now I have all this baggage. I guess that's probably my big flaw."

"Well . . . I could be your very own baggage handler."

Sarah blinked, looking at Chuck, who appeared to be wishing that a very large hole would open up underneath him. Because they both knew that he had been too honest, too open, and that made everything feel uncomfortable and awkward.

It felt real. Like an actual date.

Chuck rushed ahead. "So the guy, that's why you left D.C., then?"

"Mostly," Sarah said, hoping to move on from his words still ringing in her ears. "Because all my friends seemed to be his, and everywhere I went reminded me of Bry-Bruce, so . . ."

"Yeah," Chuck said, his voice sympathetic and full of sadness. "There was this girl in college-"

A girl in college? What? That hadn't been included in any of the information she had received! And that was something she needed to know, if she was competing with someone that Chuck had met in college and clearly still had mixed emotions about.

Before Sarah could ask him for more, Chuck shook his head and gave her a weak smile. "And she's been very specific about how we're not in college anymore and that our relationship falls under the heading of hackysack and drinking Natural Ice. Things you don't do once you've graduated."

Even though she could tell there was still some lingering pain there, she had to laugh. Because he was funny, but with a self-deprecating charm that she couldn't help responding to. It was different from how it was with Carmichael, all push-pull and tension. There was a feeling of give and take in her interactions with Chuck so far, something less competitive and more fun.

"I like you, Chuck," she said, the words coming out of her mouth at the same time she thought them. And while she felt a bit embarrassed, enough that she hid her face in her margarita, Sarah knew it was true. And the fact that it helped make this a good date was just a bonus.

She really hoped he was having a good time. All too soon, it would be over.

Picking up a menu, Sarah smiled at him. "So what would you recommend?"

And when he smiled back and leaned forward, going over the menu with her, Sarah couldn't help looking at him and thinking about what a good time she was having, too.

XXX

This was getting pretty fucking scary, how damn comfortable she was with Chuck.

After dinner, when she was stuffed with margaritas and chips and salsa and spicy arroz con pollo, it had been easy to agree to walk with him to the next stop on their date: a music club that a neighbor of his worked at and would arrange for them to get in. She wasn't buzzed, not with so much food, but she did feel full and comfortable in a way she didn't normally experience. But even more disconcerting was how easily the conversation flowed with Chuck. Sure, there were a few misses along the way-that 'baggage handler' line was probably going to haunt her dreams and his nightmares-but all in all, they couldn't see to stop talking.

"God, I don't like music and I'm not a cannibal. This is the worst date ever, right?" Fuck, what was she even saying? Fishing for compliments? How insecure was she right now? Thank God he didn't seem to be listening . . . which was a first for tonight.

Frowning, Sarah tried to see what had captured Chuck's attention: a line of black SUVs with flashing red-and-blue lights. Not that uncommon in a major city like Los Angeles, but he was staring at them like they meant something to him . . .

Shit. What kind of skeletons did Chuck Bartowski have in his closet? She had already been surprised by the college girlfriend; did he have some kind of criminal past in his backstory? Something that had been left out in order to elicit an honest reaction from her? He was good with computers-perhaps he had done something illegal, hacked into something he shouldn't.

Or maybe . . . maybe this was about the Intersect! There was a moment of disorientation when the information would be fed to the agent-maybe that's why he was standing there dumbly, still looking down from the overpass towards the highway, the highway that had just seen a bunch of government vehicles blow by.

She had to get her head back in the game-and keep Chuck calm in case he was freaking out about what was happening to him. "Chuck?" she said, trying to sound casual yet oh-so-slightly peeved.

It did the trick: he turned and looked at her, then shook his head. "Sorry . . . got lost in thought there for a minute." He still seemed slightly confused, which made Sarah even more convinced that the Intersect had fired. Which meant that it was working and hadn't caused Chuck's brain to explode . . . but also that he had just received classified government intelligence and didn't know what to do with it.

"Does that happen a lot?" she asked, hoping her voice sounded teasing and not accusatory.

Chuck gave her a sheepish smile. "It won't happen again. C'mon, the club's just up ahead."

"Okay," she said, smiling back at him. As they walked, Chuck kept up a stream of chatter, but she got the sense that his mouth was on autopilot. He was definitely thinking about something-making some kind of plan.

And like that, Sarah knew that the timetable had to move up. They couldn't wait until after the third date to reveal what was going on with him-they had to do it tonight. Because Chuck seemed like the kind of Good Samaritan who would want to act on the information he had, who would call in some kind of tip to an anonymous crime fighter phone number. Those phone lines were tracked and monitored within an inch of their lives. And not just by police and U.S. law enforcement, either.

Sarah's mind raced, even as she laughed at Chuck's jokes and tried to get a word in edgewise. She would need to call Casey and find an excuse to get Chuck to Castle. There, in the secure facility, they could explain what was going on. She knew there were a lot of assumptions she was working under, but she had that sense of being right, that she was on the right track. So she'd follow her gut and hope it all worked out.

All she had to do was find some privacy to call Casey. Privacy without leaving Chuck alone and unprotected. She got her chance once they were inside: Chuck immediately volunteered to get them drinks if she found them someplace to sit. Sarah agreed and asked for a club soda before watching Chuck navigate his way to the bar. Then, looking around as if she was searching for an empty table, Sarah pulled out her phone and hit Casey's number.

Unfortunately, the piped-in music stopped at that moment and a loud indie rock band took the stage. "Casey?" she yelled into the phone.

"Walker?" she thought she heard. "What the fuck?"

She nearly groaned. She could have, in fact, since Casey wouldn't have heard her. Raising her voice, she said, "Get to Castle ASAP."

The music got even louder and she couldn't hear what the NSA agent said. Grimacing, Sarah ended the call and quickly typed a text to Casey, hoping he wasn't as much of a Luddite as he seemed and would think to check his texts.

Now she just had to find a way to get Chuck out of this club. Something that wouldn't tip him off or scare him . . .

As he approached her, carrying two glasses, Sarah got an idea. An idea that shouldn't have been as appealing as it was, but that she would chalk up to fantasies and a listing in Carmichael's personnel file of "experienced tango dancer" under Other Skills.

"Here you go!" he said loudly, handing her a glass and sitting down next to her on the small loveseat she had claimed. She gave him a seductive smile back and sipped her soda water, giving him a few moments to relax. It would take Casey at least forty-five minutes to get to Castle, and they were only twenty minutes away. So there was time to kill.

But within two minutes, she felt antsy. Setting down her glass, she reached out and wrapped her fingers around his wrist. And fuck, he was so warm.

Leaning in, she spoke into his ear. "Let's dance."

"Oh, I'm not much of a dancer-" he started to say, but the rest of his words were cut off as she pulled him up and over to the dance floor.

Within a few moments, Sarah had to agree with him. Chuck Bartowski wasn't much of a dancer. Thanks to his interest in music, he definitely had a sense of rhythm, but he seemed too awkward and nervous to really lose himself and let his body go. It was a bit of a disappointment, but given the circumstances Sarah wasn't really enjoying herself that much, either. Not when she had to put on an act and go sexier than she wanted, in order to manipulate Chuck into agreeing to leave with her.

It wasn't like she went as risqué as she could have . . . but it was definitely more than Chuck could handle. With him off-balance, it'd be easier to get him to agree with her. After two songs, she stood up on her toes-damn, she'd definitely have to get some higher heels-and whispered in his ear, "Come with me."

Chuck's eyes widened and she could feel the resistance in him as she half-dragged him out of the club. "Sarah-Sarah, I'm really flattered but I think things are moving really fast and perhaps we should slow them down-even though this has been a great date I'd kinda like to save something for next time, that is if there is a next time-"

Shit, Chuck's car was parked back at the restaurant, a good ten minute walk away. Reaching into her pocket, Sarah pulled out a universal car key and looked at Chuck. "Chuck, I know this is all gonna seem strange, but right now, I need you to just follow my lead, okay?"

"What?" he asked, his eyes going wide and nearly bugging out of his head.

Fuck fuck fuck, her mind screamed. She was losing him. Coming on too strong, making him freak out. She had to regroup. She had to play him, make him want to be the one to go with her. The trick was figuring out the best method of doing so. Sex was clearly out. So . . . perhaps Chuck was a white knight type.

Sliding her hand down his arm, Sarah wrapped her fingers around his. "I have something I need to tell you," she said softly. "And it'll sound crazy, but I really need you to listen, okay? But I can't tell you here, so . . . so would you please come with me? To the Orange Orange?" She could see his eyes filling with questions, still utterly confused.

So even though the manipulation she was weaving made her feel sick to her stomach, Sarah squeezed his hand. "Please, Chuck-you're the only person I know in Los Angeles, and I feel-I feel safe with you. Please?"

And just like that, it worked. She could see the change in him, as he straightened up a little. "Sure-sure! I mean, whatever I can do, Sarah. We'll go get the Nerd Herder and I can drive you to the Orange Orange."

That was an even better plan than the one she had come up with, because persuading Chuck to let her steal a car and go with her was definitely the weak point in her strategy. Sarah gave Chuck a smile, putting on a show of immense relief. "Thank you, thank you!" she said, holding his hand tightly as she pocketed her universal key. "You're a lifesaver."

He flushed and stuttered. "I-I don't know about t-that."

"Oh, you are," she said, tugging on his hand and getting them walking back towards the restaurant and his car. "You have no idea."

In the back of her mind, the biting sarcastic side of her pointed out the irony of that statement. Sarah batted away the voice and stayed focused on Chuck.

XXX

"Sarah? What _is_ this place?"

The wonder in Chuck's voice made Sarah look around Castle with fresh eyes. For someone who wasn't used to secret spy bases, Castle must look pretty impressive with all the video screens and shadowy lighting.

"It's a long story, Chuck, so why don't you have a seat? I'll explain in just a minute," Sarah said, keeping her voice soft and gentle before turning back to Casey. "He did what?" she asked in a whisper.

"Phoned in two tips and sent a text to some CrimeWatchers service," Casey said, his voice disgusted. "Calls went in yesterday at ten-oh-four a.m. and four-twenty-seven p.m. The text was tonight, during your 'date'. Good work, Walker."

"How did we not know about the phone calls?" she asked, pinning Casey. Audio and video surveillance were his areas of expertise on this assignment.

"He used pay phones instead of his cell or the landlines we have bugs on," Casey said grumpily. "Fucking movies, teachin' people too damn much."

"Tell me about it," she said, glancing back at Chuck, who was sitting very still in his chair with his hands in his lap. "We need to tell him the truth."

"He looks ready to pop. Sure about this?"

"What other choice do we have?" Sarah asked, looking up at Casey. "We keep him in the dark for much longer, he's only going to draw more attention to himself."

Casey shrugged and nodded. "Okay, then. Let's get the show on the road."

Sarah took a deep breath. "Yeah. Okay."

Turning to look at Chuck, she felt a pang of guilt and sympathy. Carmichael seemed to have his own reasons for accepting this gig, reasons that she didn't know. But it had been his choice. Chuck, this different man who only kinda looked like Charles Carmichael, hadn't chosen this. Probably didn't want this. And he'd never know that deep down, he'd volunteered to become this massive guinea pig.

"This has been a crazy night," Sarah said, pulling out a chair and sitting down across from him. "I know you must have a lot of questions, but first, could you answer some for me?"

Chuck's brown eyes, which already looked scared and almost cowed, widened for a moment. Then he hesitantly nodded.

She gave him an encouraging smile. "Thank you, Chuck. First . . . have you had any blackouts? Periods of time you can't account for?"

"Yes . . . a few nights ago. I got an email from an old college . . . well, not friend, but someone I knew in college. It was a line from Zork. You know, the old text-based computer game?" he explained when Sarah shook her head in confusion. "That's not important," Chuck said, running his hands through his hair. "Um, I opened the email and read the line, and then I typed in the command that would follow that line. The next thing I knew, Ellie and Morgan were waking me up the next morning."

That fit with when the block on the Intersect had been lifted. Sarah nodded, leaning forward a bit in her chair. "Okay, good. Now . . . ever since then, have you had moments when, when you suddenly knew something that you shouldn't know?"

Now his eyes were the size of saucers. He started to breathe heavier and Sarah reached forward and rested her hand lightly on his arm. "Easy, Chuck."

"Told you-we're losing him," Casey said. "I'm calling Graham-"

"No!" Sarah said, looking at Casey over her shoulder. "Just give him time." She turned back to Chuck and put as much support and warmth in her voice as possible. "Chuck? Chuck, it's okay. You're not going crazy and it's not your head injury. You're fine, just . . . something has happened to you."

"Something? What does that mean? And-and how do you know about my head injury?" he asked, his voice weak and wavering. "Sarah, what is going on?"

The fact that he was looking to her for answers-that he wasn't trying to run and get out of here as fast as he could-was encouraging, Sarah thought. Once again, she took his hand.

"Chuck . . . an accident happened," she said, using the cover story. "That email you got contained government secrets. Intelligence gathered by the CIA and the NSA."

"What? How? What?"

The disbelief in his voice was all-encompassing, drowning out the fear and confusion. Sarah could understand that. She gave him a small smile. "I told you I had something crazy to tell you."

He blinked and sat back, pulling his hand away from hers. For a moment, a look of crushing disappointment flickered over his face, followed by painful realization. And in that moment, she knew what he was thinking. That of course the only reason she had gone out with him was because of whatever was going on.

And it was true, but it also wasn't true. Yet there was no way she could tell him that.

"You sure about this, Walker?" Casey asked from his position behind her.

She sent him a quick glare before turning back to Chuck. "This is Major John Casey from the NSA. My name's Sarah Walker and I'm a CIA agent. We've been sent here to protect you. Because of the secrets in your head."

Chuck's long eyelashes rested on his cheeks as his eyes closed for a moment, then he lifted his lids and looked at both Sarah and Casey. "Secrets? In my head?"

Good-he was asking questions. He hadn't descended into shock yet.

"Yes, Chuck," she said, moving forward and resting her hand on his knee. Wanting him to have something physical to ground him in the midst of this fantastic conversation. "That email contained an experimental database called the Intersect."

As she said the word, she could feel him tense underneath her hand. HIs eyes rolled back in his head a little, his expression becoming vacant. Sarah watched in shock as she realized that he was receiving information from the Intersect.

It was just a moment before Chuck relaxed a little, only to immediately bring up a hand to rub his eyes.

"Jesus, it's fast," Casey commented. Sarah could only nod dumbly. Chuck looked so tired now, his shoulders slumped and a wrinkle of discomfort appearing between his eyebrows. Ellie had warned that accessing the Intersect could cause headaches and disorientation, but it was one thing to hear that and another to see it for yourself. Realizing that there was no way for Chuck to prepare or brace himself for the information, or the aftermath, made her sympathy for him double.

Regathering herself, Sarah rubbed Chuck's knee. "Okay there?"

He nodded a little, pulling his hand away and shifting so her hand fell away from his knee. "Yeah. Yeah, just have a splitting headache now."

"That's to be expected any time you use the Intersect," Casey said, lowering himself into a chair on the other side of Sarah. "Just gonna have to suck it up, Bartowski."

"Yeah, is that so?" Chuck asked, looking at Casey with narrowed eyes. "And what if I don't want this in my head?"

"Too bad-" Casey started to say, before Sarah jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. She winced-it was like hitting her funny bone on a boulder-before she shot Casey a look and turned to Chuck.

"You probably have a lot of questions right now. And this all probably seems very unfair. But unfortunately, Chuck, we need you to hold on to the Intersect for a while."

"How long is a while?" he asked, pinning her under his angry gaze. Because Chuck Bartowski was definitely mad right now.

"It's however long we say it is," Casey said, at the same time Sarah said, "A year, tops."

"A year?!" Chuck said. He stood up and turned his back on them, his shoulders tight and his hands clenched. Then he started pacing. "A year?" He glanced at them. "And then this thing-the Intersect-is gone?"

"Yes," Sarah said, knowing it was the truth. Normally in this kind of situation with an asset, you never gave them a firm deadline for the end of their service, because the deadline usually coincided with the asset's death. But this was different and they needed to keep Chuck calm.

It did the trick: Chuck relaxed a little, enough to stop pacing and just face them, his hands on his hips. It was a strangely commanding pose, one that didn't seem very Chuck.

"What's stopping me from going to the newspapers tomorrow? Telling them all about this, about how my rights as an American citizen are being infringed . . ." Chuck's voice trailed off, as if he didn't fully support his threat. As if he knew this wouldn't get him anywhere, but wanting to see what would happen. It was a very strategic move. One that she wouldn't have suspected Chuck of ever considering. But it was definitely a Carmichael approach.

Casey grunted softly. Sarah turned and took a keyboard, tapping on a few keys. On the nearest video screen, three images popped up: Devon and Ellie Woodcomb and Morgan Grimes.

"This is why," Sarah said, gesturing towards the screen and seeing Chuck's face go white. "If you reveal yourself to anyone, you put your family and friends in danger." She let that sink in. "You can't tell the press, you can't tell your sister or your brother-in-law or your best friend. No one can know about the Intersect, Chuck."

This wasn't how a normal asset would be treated. That was what Chuck was: an asset. Something that would be used by the government until they no longer needed him. Normally, assets were given as little information as necessary and treated harshly, if only to make them remember their place. But the thing was, Chuck wasn't a normal asset. He was actually an agent, one of the most brilliant the CIA ever had. And Sarah couldn't seem to forget that when she looked at him, even though he bore little resemblance to Charles Carmichael. So she wasn't quite as brusque as she should be, wasn't quite as domineering as was recommended.

But that didn't mean she was going to let Chuck jeopardize this assignment. He had to know what the consequences were if he broke his silence. And yes, Ellie already knew about the Intersect and the CIA and everything, but Chuck didn't know that and wouldn't ever know that.

Sarah held Chuck's gaze with her own. "If you tell anyone, Chuck, we'll have to put you in a bunker. Far, far away from here. And I can't make any guarantees that you'll see your family or friends ever again if that happens. I know it will be difficult not to tell them. But for their safety, you have to lie to them."

He swallowed. "I-I can't tell them anything?"

"No, Chuck. I'm sorry."

At the final tone in her voice, she could see the fight drain out of Chuck. And it made her feel unhappy, but she was doing the right thing. This was necessary in order to protect Chuck and it was standard procedure when handling an asset. She had nothing to feel guilty or ashamed about.

Slowly, Chuck walked back to his chair and sat down. "So what am I gonna do?" he asked, looking back and forth between Sarah and Casey.

XXX

It was late by the time they finished explaining what would happen now. Casey ambled out, leaving Sarah alone with her new asset. Chuck was slumped in his chair, his hair a mess of fluffed-up curls from all the times he had run his hands through it. He had been fairly quiet as Sarah and Casey had detailed what his role was in Operation Bartowski. She wasn't sure if they had simply hit the point where he couldn't absorb any more information or if he was so upset from everything that he was about to lose his shit.

She turned off the video screens and leaned against the conference table by Chuck's chair. For a moment, she had the urge to ruffle his curls, to give him some comfort. But she had noticed how he kept pulling away from her when she touched him, so she knew he needed some space. Plus, hair ruffling was a bit too affectionate for a work relationship.

"Okay, Chuck?"

He let out a bitter-sounding snort. "I am a long way from okay."

Her teeth sank into her lower lip for a moment as she tried to figure out something to say, something to do. Anything that would take away the dejection she saw in him. Then, to her surprise, he looked up at her. "But I guess it could be a lot worse. I mean, you're stuck having to pretend you like me."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say she didn't have to pretend anything. That it was easy to like him. But she held back and shrugged her shoulders. "It's not so bad. Burbank's a lot better than Afghanistan, Casey's opinion to the contrary."

"I'm just glad I get to stay here. I . . . I wouldn't like living in a bunker," he said, looking back down at his shoes and scraping the toe of one sneaker against the tile floor. "So . . . so I guess I should be thanking you. For protecting me and letting me stay here."

Sarah gripped the edge of the conference table hard, until the glass edge dug into her palms. Who the hell was this sweet, this earnest? No one, that's who. So how the hell did Chuck Bartowski pull this off? Because she could tell it wasn't an act or some Nice Guy schtick. He was genuinely, honestly, _nice_. And that went extinct around the same time as the dinosaurs.

Standing up straight, Sarah moved to pick up some files. "It's my job. And you deserve it, for dealing with the Intersect and with everything that's happened to you."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him stand up and stretch just a little. "So do you know everything about me?" he asked, his voice curious.

"Not everything," she said, tucking the files under her arm. "Just the basics."

"And you know about the head injury?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"Yes . . . I mean, I know you were in a car accident a year ago, one that caused you to have a very difficult recovery," Sarah said, parroting the information that Ellie had told her and Casey. "And that's why you came back here."

Chuck rubbed the back of his neck. "You remember that girl I mentioned? The one I dated in college?"

The change of subject confused Sarah, but she still nodded, since she wouldn't forget anytime soon that piece of information. In fact, she planned to do some research on this girl as soon as possible to determine if she really existed.

"Her name is Jill. We broke up our senior year, but we got back together about a year later." He paused for a moment, then blurted out, "We were engaged when the accident happened, and she-she couldn't handle it so she left. So that's really why I'm here in Burbank. Because I was alone in Cambridge and couldn't take care of myself, and Ellie was really worried about my brains being scrambled and insisted I come back here so she could keep an eye on me. And give me MRIs and PET scans every two months, because she's a neurologist."

If she had felt guilty before about manipulating Chuck into going out with her, about giving him a good time only for it to be a lie . . . now she felt a hundred times worse. No, a thousand-a million times worse. How could Ellie not tell her this? She knew that Sarah would be cover dating Chuck, she had to know what it would do to her brother to think he was so worthless and unlovable that no one could care-

She stopped and took a deep breath. She was getting too worked up about this. She had to stay calm. Calm and professional and friendly. She could be his friend.

"I . . . I'm sorry about how everything went tonight," Sarah said, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth. "I had to do a lot of improvising, and I used to think I was good at it, but now . . . now I'm not so sure."

Her damn lip was between her teeth again as she considered the words that were floating around in her head. Then she figured, the hell with it. He needed some confidence.

"Just so you know, I had a good time tonight."

There was some doubt in his eyes when he looked at her. Doubt she didn't like seeing.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice hesitant.

Sarah nodded, her head jerking. "I don't date much. But I think it's pretty safe to say tonight was the best first date I've ever had. And will ever have."

The expression that bloomed on his face was like the sun coming up. The doubt faded to be replaced with pleasure and satisfaction and even a flicker of confidence. It totally changed him. Made him look different. Made him look whole.

And she couldn't look away, until she realized that she was staring and she had to stop.

Clearing her throat, she gestured towards the staircase. "We should both get going. I have my car here, so you can head on home."

"Huh? Oh. Right! Home." Chuck shook his head and grinned a little. "Ellie will be glad to see me coming in so late. She'll think there's going to be a second date."

If this was how Chuck Bartowski flirted, it was pretty devastating. Sarah gave him a small smile. "We'll talk more tomorrow. Get some sleep, Chuck."

He nodded. "Okay. G'night, Sarah." He took a step towards her, almost like he was going to lean down and kiss her cheek, before he stopped and flushed. Then, without another word, he turned and started climbing the stairs.

Sarah took a few breaths, grabbing the file folders that were now slightly sweaty from being jammed under her arm and looked at them to see which ones she actually needed. But Chuck's voice made her freeze.

"As long as we're being honest . . . tonight was the best first date I've ever had, too."

Her head whipped around, trying to look at him, but he was already out through the door into the Orange Orange, leaving her alone in Castle.

End, Chapter 4


	5. Chapter 5

Now that Chuck was aware of what was in his head, Operation Bartowski settled into a routine. Most mornings, either Sarah or Casey picked him up and brought him to Castle, where he went through files to see if he flashed on anything. After that, he would rest before Casey escorted him to work. After work, Sarah drove him home if they didn't have a cover date.

Sarah glanced over at Chuck as she drove towards Echo Park. Her Porsche had finally arrived from D.C., so she had retired the Honda and got to enjoy the sight of Chuck folding his limbs up to fit into her tiny sports car each evening. She had to admit, it was a small pleasure that she hadn't stopped enjoying.

And right now, she was all for taking the small pleasures where she could find them. Because this assignment was already proving to be . . . challenging. Very, very challenging.

It was a hard adjustment, being thrown into cover maintenance situations at the drop of a hat. Having to suddenly touch or hug Chuck, to cuddle in against his side when Morgan or Ellie turned up . . .

At least she was able to determine that Chuck's body wasn't that different from Carmichael's. A few extra pounds and softened muscles, but nothing that couldn't be restored when the Intersect and the cover personality were out of his head. And in fact, she was going to do her best to encourage Chuck to get some more exercise. It would help keep him safe in case he stumbled into trouble.

Before she brought that up, though, she wanted him to have more time to adjust to the Intersect. Fortunately, one of Ellie's bimonthly brain scans had happened about two weeks after the block on the Intersect was removed. She had reviewed the information and reported that Chuck seemed to be handling the strain well. Both the Intersect and the cover identity were holding up.

She hadn't seen anything to discount Ellie's diagnosis, but . . . but she was still worried about what using the Intersect did to Chuck. If he flashed more than two or three times at once, he suffered headaches that made him pale and drawn. The fact that he then had to go work a shift at the Buy More was a matter of concern to her. She tried to mix things up-have Chuck review the files in the evening-but often the new intelligence came in overnight and couldn't wait twelve hours for Chuck's review.

It hadn't taken long for Graham to report how pleased the CIA was with Operation Bartowski. So far, everything was working precisely as planned. There was no chatter about the Intersect, no word that Fulcrum had any idea that the CIA had implemented it again. The cover identity was doing its job, hiding Chuck from any notice. Meanwhile, the Intersect was providing good intelligence to the CIA and NSA. All in all, everything was working out.

Of course, that made Sarah even more itchy. Made her wonder about when things might go wrong and how they would handle it. Until they had their first mission, though, it would be hard to say how the team would work together. Of course, Chuck wouldn't be going out into the field, so at least he'd stay safe. But it was bound to take some time before she got in sync with Casey, although they'd managed so far to get along.

"So . . . so how are you doing?" Sarah asked, feeling lame for the question. Because shouldn't a handler be able to figure out this kind of thing without asking? But this was the first time she had an asset to manage.

Chuck, who had been leaning back against his seat with his eyes closed, turned to look at her. "Huh?"

"Are you okay?" she repeated, glancing at him before returning her eyes to the road. "You're quiet."

"Oh, yeah . . . just tired. But I promised Morgan we'd go to Chinatown for dinner tonight. He's got a hankering for sizzling shrimp."

Sarah looked at him again. "Are you sure you're up for that?"

He gave her a small smile, one that didn't compare to his normal beaming one. "I can't disappoint Morgan. Besides, if he goes alone, he buys fireworks and one of these days, he will end up losing a finger. Or something even worse."

The friendship Chuck had with Morgan was one she definitely didn't understand. Even if she didn't know that underneath Chuck was Charles Carmichael, she'd still be confused. Chuck was nice and friendly and smart. He was at the Buy More because of a temporary setback, while Morgan just seemed . . . He was a slacker and a screw-up. He'd probably never leave the Buy More, never do anything that special. So she didn't know why Chuck was so loyal to Morgan.

Not just loyal-trusting. Apparently, as part of his cover story for his return, Carmichael had told Morgan that Chuck Bartowski was in some kind of witness protection program. That Morgan had to act like Chuck was his fellow Buy More worker and regular guy who had returned to California after a car accident. Carmichael hadn't told Morgan anything about the Intersect or about his actual job, but still . . . it was such a huge gamble. Sarah wasn't sure what made Carmichael willing to take such a risk, but then, this whole operation was a crap shoot. And maybe it was time for her to see just why Morgan was trusted with such a big secret.

"Perhaps I should come along. If someone else is there, maybe Morgan will be on his best behavior," Sarah said.

"No! I mean, it's okay. I have enough sway over Morgan and besides, it'd just be really boring for you."

The speed at which he turned her down made her stomach drop. It shouldn't affect her so much, but . . . but it did. And she didn't understand why. She gripped the steering wheel and tried to smile. "Okay. Have fun, then."

"Thanks . . . I don't have a lot of time when I'm not thinking about what's inside my head. When I'm not reminded about the Intersect," he said, gazing at her. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her. "It's okay, isn't it? To spend time with Morgan?"

"Of course," Sarah said, pulling to a stop in front of Chuck's apartment complex. "You need to keep to your routine, which includes hanging out with Morgan. Besides, we've only just met. It'd create too many questions if we were always together."

Chuck nodded slowly. "Okay . . . well, so what does a CIA agent do when she's got the night off?" He gave her a smile. "Wild parties, shopping sprees?"

Sarah let out a small laugh. "More like paperwork and sharpening my knives."

"Really?" he asked, wrinkling his nose.

God, that was too damn cute. She smiled and shrugged.

"You know, Ellie's been dropping more and more hints about meeting you. If you two hit it off, you could always spend some time together." Chuck gave her an encouraging smile. "Ellie's always looking for more friends."

So Ellie was doing her part to maintain her own cover. That was good to hear. With how close Chuck and Ellie were supposed to be, it was little wonder that Ellie was eager to "meet" Sarah. And Chuck was bound to be interested in seeing if Sarah merited Ellie's approval.

"We'll have to do a double date," Sarah said, patting Chuck's shoulder. "We'll start talking about it. But I think Morgan's waiting for you." She gestured out the window towards Morgan, who was sitting on the edge of the fountain in the courtyard that the apartment complex was built around.

He grinned. "Yeah. See you later." Before Sarah could suggest a kiss to sell their cover, Chuck climbed out of the car and headed over to Morgan.

Watching him go, Sarah hoped that Chuck got the nice, relaxing night he wanted. A fun time with his best friend.

XXX

Just how had all her expectations gone so wrong?

Chuck's night in Chinatown had yielded his first piece of intelligence provided by the Intersect alone: a Chinese spy attempting to rescue her kidnapped brother from the Triad gang. They weren't supposed to get involved, but Chuck hadn't wanted to let the victim be hurt. Especially not after he unknowingly helped the head of the Triads, Ben Lo Pan, with the kidnapping.

It was amazing how he could persuade two hardened spies like her and Casey to do what he wanted, Sarah thought. Three, if they counted Mei-Ling, said Chinese spy. Chuck had gotten her to agree to defect if they helped save her brother. What's more, Chuck's knowledge of electronics had let him become part of the mission-he could hack his way into the security system used in Lo Pan's mansion. It'd give them an edge, but Sarah wasn't happy to have Chuck in the field. Even if he was under strict orders to stay in the surveillance van while they went in with Mei-Ling.

How had he done this? Gotten involved so much, stepped up in ways that she hadn't expected. It made this mission feel . . . different. His refusal to accept that not everyone could be saved wasn't how spies operated. And the fact that he wouldn't let an innocent person be sacrificed made her wonder about the times when she had been in the same position and chosen differently.

Taking a breath, Sarah looked around and gripped her gun as she moved into the mansion, trying to avoid any guards. As uncomfortable as she felt having Chuck so close to the action, given his inability to protect himself, she had to push that aside and focus on her job. Once they found Lee Cho, they could send him back to China and Mei-Ling would live up to her part of the bargain. Simple, easy.

But of course, it all went to hell.

The link to Chuck got cut and they had no eyes. They were surrounded and ushered out by Lo Pan's guards and Sarah felt her stomach sink. It was possible they could get out of this, but not without losing something. Not without losing someone.

At least Casey got a message to Chuck, telling him to go home. He'd be safe there until a new set of handlers could be sent. It was still early enough that he would be able to work with a new team without any major complications. After all, he barely knew her and Casey. He'd get over this loss. It was probably good for Chuck, to see what being a spy was really like. She didn't think he had been taking all this as seriously as he could. He thought it was a game. But it wasn't a game.

Sarah swallowed as she stood with Casey and Mei-Ling in the kitchen of some Chinese restaurant, waiting for whatever Lo Pan would do to them. This was the part she hated: the waiting. All bad guys seemed to have taken some class in how to make their victims sweat. And they got very mad when said victims didn't sweat. Because she wasn't sweating. She wasn't wondering what was going to happen to Chuck, she wasn't wondering what might have happened if this assignment had been able to play out . . .

She wasn't thinking about-what the fuck? Was that smoke? And . . . firecrackers?

"Sarah! Casey!"

Holy shit, it was Chuck. What the hell was he doing?

That thought got shoved to the back of her mind as she sprang into action. As she punched and kicked within the cramped confines of the kitchen, she noticed Chuck hiding with Lee Cho. That was good. He was staying safe until she could kill him for getting involved. He was supposed to go home!

Once she got out of this life-or-death situation, she was going to have words with her asset.

By the time they got back to Castle, Sarah was practically vibrating with anger. Having to deal with Mei-Ling and her brother, with the defection paperwork and reporting in-through it all, there was the banked fire of her anger at Chuck. It gave her the energy and the adrenaline to do her job. She knew if she handled her responsibilities, then she could handle Chuck.

How dare he risk himself like that? Ever since the start of this mission, it had been drilled into his head that he wasn't a spy, that he wasn't to do anything that put himself into any more danger. The whole point of putting the Intersect into someone who appeared to be an innocent civilian was to keep it safe. By interfering, by trying to rescue herself and Casey, Chuck had nearly brought disaster upon himself.

She had given him explicit instructions and he had disobeyed them. Chuck might actually be a spy without realizing it, but for now he was just Chuck Bartowski and he had to understand that he couldn't do that. He had to listen to her if this assignment was going to work.

When she stomped out of her office, though, it was to find only Casey. "Where's Chuck?"

"Sent him home," Casey said, eyeing her. "So you'd have time to cool down."

"What the fuck? I don't need time to cool down, I need to tell Chuck to never do that again."

"Yeah, probably, but not now." He leaned back in his chair. "You blow your top, he won't listen. He'll dig his heels in."

"You haven't spent a fraction of the time with Chuck that I have, I think I know him better than you," Sarah said, pacing in front of Casey, feeling her anger increase. What the fuck was he driving at? So far, all Casey had done was bury himself in paperwork and guns, barely spending any time with Chuck, even with all the hours they worked together at the Buy More.

"The kid fucked up," Casey said bluntly. "Maybe it means he's not the limp dick he seems to be, maybe it was a momentary bit of bravery, maybe he thought it'd get him laid. But you go losing your temper, it'll really fuck things up. Somebody's gotta be the grown-up here. Looks like it's you. So calm down and be the grown-up."

Sarah ran her hands through her hair. "Why are you saying this? Why are you letting me handle this? Handle Chuck?"

Casey, by his years of service, should be the senior agent. The one to act as Chuck's handler, the one to lead the way. But after a bit of initial chest-thumping, he had stepped back, let her take control of Chuck. Why?

He looked at her for a long moment, his blue eyes narrowed and flat, giving away nothing. Then he shrugged and stood up. "Go home. We've got to get up early in the morning and do the exchange, take Mei-Ling in."

What the hell was that about? Shaking her head, Sarah sighed and tried to relax. She knew Casey was right: anger wasn't the right way to reach Chuck. And . . . and it had all worked out. The mission was a success. Not only had they rescued Lee Cho, but they had also convinced an enemy agent to defect and share information with the United States. That was a win-win. Perhaps she just needed to focus on that instead of Chuck's disobedience. Not that he could keep doing that. She'd need to nip that in the bud. But at this early juncture, being too harsh might turn Chuck off, make him forget that they were on the same side here.

It was still early days. She was still learning just who Chuck Bartowski was. This experience had taught her a lot. Not necessarily about him, though-about herself.

XXX

As she walked through the courtyard of Chuck's apartment complex, Sarah took a deep breath. She had to remember that getting angry wouldn't be productive. Chuck wasn't a spy and he wasn't an idiot. She had to explain things to him, make him understand why what had happened last night couldn't be repeated.

Sarah knocked lightly on the front door, then smiled as Ellie opened the door. "Hi, I'm Sarah-Chuck's girlfriend?" She pitched her voice to carry, in case Chuck was in the vicinity.

"It's okay-Chuck's in his bedroom," Ellie said. "Hi, Sarah." She gave Sarah a small smile. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah . . . we just need to talk, so . . ." Sarah couldn't help feeling awkward around Ellie. It hadn't gotten any easier as the mission had gone on, but Sarah couldn't explain why. Maybe it was because they hadn't "met" officially in Chuck's eyes. Maybe it was because Ellie knew about Chuck's secret and Sarah was worried about spending time in her company when Chuck was around, for fears of Ellie not being able to hide her knowledge.

"Okay-I'm on my way out to work, so go on back," Ellie said, waving towards the hallway. "Oh, and when you get a chance, call me to give me an update on Chuck, okay?"

"I will," Sarah said, nodding to Ellie before walking slowly down the hallway. As she did, she quickly glanced around. She had seen surveillance photos of the Bartowski-Woodcomb apartment, but the pictures hadn't captured the feeling of warmth in the rooms. The sense that a family lived here.

Shaking her head, Sarah picked up her pace. When she reached the partially-closed door, she tapped on it lightly. "Knock, knock," Sarah said, pushing the door open. He looked up from his bed where he was tying his sneakers.

"Hi," he said quietly, looking a bit cowed.

Sarah frowned. What was going on? He seemed so . . . diminished. Like all the light had gone out from his world.

"Hey . . ." she said, walking in and sitting down in his desk chair. "Something wrong?"

Chuck sat up and rubbed his hands against his pants. He was dressed in his Nerd Herd uniform, the tie hanging loose around his neck. "I guess . . . last night, I just kinda acted without thinking. And then, when I got home, I started realizing all the ways things could have gone wrong. I freaked out some. And I thought you'd be mad at me, too."

Wow. Was he a fucking mind-reader or what? Sarah had to let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, I was," she said, looking at him.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes big and brown and beseeching. "But I couldn't let you and Casey get killed when I could do something-not to mention going back on the deal with Mei-Ling to save her brother. And when I realized you were being taken back to Chinatown, I knew the fireworks would be a way to distract the bad guys and I just thought-"

"But did you think?" Sarah asked, working very hard to keep her voice gentle. "Or did you just react?"

To his credit, he actually took a moment to think before he replied. "I . . . I guess not. But Sarah, I-I don't want you to die."

The utter sweetness of his words, of his expression, of this whole moment, made her look down. He barely knew her. How could he feel so strongly about her already? Certainly Chuck seemed to be a warm, caring man, someone who gathered people around him that he liked and admired. The idea that she had already entered that circle was . . . rather awe-inspiring.

She gave him a small smile. "Thank you, Chuck. But as sweet as that is, you have to remember that I'm a trained spy. It's my job to protect you-not the other way around. Okay? There's a reason we tell you to stay in the van: to keep you safe. To let you stay here. It'd be easy to toss you into a bunker, but we don't want to do that to you. I don't want to do that," she said, leaning forward and resting her hand on his arm. "Okay?"

He frowned. "Why can't I be trained a little, though? You know, so I could help with surveillance like last night, all the time? I mean, I've got a degree from Stanford-I can do stuff."

"Because it's a slippery slope, Chuck," Sarah said, trying to find the words to make it clear to him. "First it's just sitting in the van. Then it's going in undercover. Then it's something else. You're not a spy-you don't have the training. And with having the Intersect in your head, something we can't allow to fall into enemy hands . . . it's too risky."

Sarah pinned Chuck. "I know this is a difficult situation. But no matter what, you have to stay safe. Casey and I, we know the risks and we know how to defend ourselves. But to do our jobs, we need you to do yours." She searched his eyes. "Can you do that, Chuck?"

It was hard to tell just what he was thinking right now. His eyes were too full of emotion. But slowly, he nodded. "I . . . I'll try. I think that's all I can promise, Sarah. But I'll try really hard not to let you down. To-to remember my limits."

Squeezing his arm, Sarah gave him a smile. "Remember, this is just a year. Once you have the Intersect out of your head, you'll be able to go back to your old life. Do whatever you want."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sarah wondered why she was reassuring him so much. And how she could lie to his face like this, when she knew what would happen at the end of the year. But right now, Chuck needed some reassurance, something to make him feel better. So she would do it. Even if it was a lie.

Standing up, Sarah gave him a tight smile. "Ready to get to work?"

Chuck seemed a bit dazed as he stood up. "Um, yeah. Just, lemme . . ." He stepped over to the mirror by his closet, swiftly knotting his tie before turning towards her. "Okay, ready."

As if her fingers had a mind of their own, Sarah reached out and gently adjusted the knot of his tie. "Now you're ready."

"Oh," he said, looking down at his tie. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said, turning and walking out of his room. That seemed a lot safer than continuing to play with his tie, because that was a girlfriend thing to do and she was only his cover girlfriend and this wasn't real.

Not real at all.

XXX

Sarah looked up as the bell over the door of the Orange Orange jingled, then smiled a little as she saw that the new customer was Chuck. "Hi," she said.

"Hey," he said, smiling brightly at her. "How's the frozen yogurt biz today?" he asked, leaning on the counter.

"Red-hot," she said with a smile.

He groaned. "You really aren't funny."

She shrugged and smiled, going back to polishing the counter. In the two weeks since the mission with Mei-Ling, she had spent a lot of time working with Chuck. Giving him subtle guidance about his role, training him about proper procedures. She didn't want another half-cocked rescue situation to happen. That wasn't what Chuck was supposed to do.

Hopefully, between her lessons and her pep talk the morning after that mission, he had gotten the message.

"Any luck setting up a plan for spending time with Jeff?" Sarah asked, going to the machine to dispense a large chocolate yogurt for Chuck.

"Yeah, we're hanging out tonight. I hope the government understands just how dangerous this could be. I mean, the brain cells I will kill tonight . . ."

He really sounded downtrodden. Sarah was glad she had thought to give him a large yogurt. Adding an extra scoopful of gummi bears to his cup, she slid it across the counter to him. "I know, Chuck. But we need to figure out why a terrorist has interest in Jeff Barnes, of all people."

"I know . . ." he said, before he stuck a large spoonful of yogurt and candy into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. "Jeff's never really talked much about his life before the Buy More. He's been working at the store since the eighties, so I've heard."

"Well, tonight you can find out more." Sarah started refilling the toppings containers as Chuck ate his yogurt.

"Yeah," he said, tossing his empty container away-how the hell could he eat so fast?-before giving her a big smile. "Thanks for the yogurt. Is that a spy thing, knowing my favorite combination of flavor and toppings?"

"Of course," she said, returning his smile, feeling a spark of pleasure. Because she had guessed on the gummi bears-she had nearly gone with the M&Ms before changing her mind. "Keep us posted about Jeff, okay?"

Chuck nodded. "You got it. See you later, Sarah."

As he left, he gave her a quick look over his shoulder. It was a look she had noticed more and more lately. It was like how he had looked at her on their "first date" up until she had to tell him the truth. It was almost like he was interested in her. For real.

Which was just fucking crazy. With the way things had happened, how could he actually be interested in her? She had played on his trust, taken advantage of him . . . and worse than that, there was no way there could be a relationship between them. She was his handler and he was the asset. It was against all the rules-and she wasn't about to let anything happen between them. Not just because of the rules, although that was a really good reason. But because if she got involved with Chuck, it'd give her an Achilles heel. Trying to protect someone when you had feelings for them made you too slow. Too easy to distract. And that would lead to the person you were trying to protect getting hurt.

There was her perceived reputation, too, of falling for the men she worked with. The spy community really only knew about Bryce, but everyone seemed to think she slept with every partner she had, if Casey's reaction to her when they first met was anything to go by. And that was without anyone knowing about her and Carmichael-

And what the hell was she thinking about this for? There could be no romance with Chuck and that was the end of it. Even if he smiled at her like he thought she was the most amazing person in the world.

Picking up her rag, Sarah really attacked the counters. She'd much rather just go down into Castle and use the shooting range, but the Orange Orange at least had to appear like any other shop-and that meant normal business hours as often as possible.

XXX

"What do you mean, you can't get in?" Sarah asked, pressing the earwig deeper in order to hear better.

"Bartowski got the brush-off. So you're up, Walker."

"And just what do you suggest I do, Casey? Perform the fucking dance of the seven fucking veils?" she replied tartly.

There was silence, then Casey said with a chuckle, "Bartowski says that if you came in as a girl Nerd Herder, that should do the trick."

Considering how men reacted to Anna, the petite Asian Nerd Herder with the short skirts and the high heels, Sarah could believe that. But it was very annoying that Chuck had suggested this option. She didn't think he was like that. If Casey had come up with the idea, she'd understand. Half the time he seemed like he was about to suggest she show her tits whenever they ran into a roadblock during a mission. Although maybe she was just feeling bitchy at the moment, because although while he seemed like he was considering the idea, he'd yet to ever actually voice that as an option.

"Fine," she said. "Give me ten minutes."

There were always a few changes of clothing in the back of the surveillance van for just this sort of problem. And fortunately, she was wearing a close-fitting white blouse already. So it just took a few minutes to pull on a flippy black skirt and one of Chuck's Nerd Herd ties. A quick fluffing of her hair, some extra lipstick, and a silver briefcase and she was ready to go.

This seemed like a lot of unnecessary work to figure out the kill command for a 1980s vintage Japanese satellite, but Chuck was so determined that no one get hurt. And if the Air Force shot down the satellite with an active ICBM on it, there was too much chance of that happening. So Sarah had argued with Casey that they should at least try to find the designer of the satellite, Mr. Morimoto, and find out if there was another option.

She just hoped they didn't have to rely on Jeff the alcoholic loser any more than they already had.

And once again, Chuck was in the field with them. Admittedly, the Intersect didn't work well at a distance; Chuck needed a clear view of whatever he was looking at in order to prompt a flash. But it was contrary to all protocols and a real pain in the ass. Because protecting Chuck out here made her and Casey a step slower, because they had to split their focus between the mission and Chuck. Now she really wished she had talked up exercise to Chuck, getting him to improve his strength and endurance. But if this was the way things were going to go from now on, with Chuck in the field, she wouldn't put it off again.

Straightening her shoulders to thrust out her chest a little, Sarah walked into the lobby of the Atari building, feeling every man's eyes on her. It was a very particular sensation, like having bugs crawl all over you and not being able to flinch. To act like you actually enjoyed it.

Why did it feel so different when it was a roomful of men versus just one man? Sarah didn't know, but she reminded herself that she had to be enough of a distraction to not only give Chuck and Casey time to find Morimoto, but to hide that she knew nothing about computers.

Putting on the sweet girl act, Sarah was happy to find that the men were so busy falling all over themselves to impress her that she just had to stand there and look interested. Glancing around, she noticed Casey and Chuck on the mezzanine that surrounded the lobby. And Chuck was staring at her.

When he realized she was looking at him, he began pointing at her and then waving his hands in front of himself before pointing at himself. It nearly broke her concentration, trying to figure out what the hell was he doing.

"What are you waiting for?" she hissed into the mike in her watch, smiling at one of the nerds who looked at her funny.

Casey grabbed hold of Chuck's collar and dragged him off and Sarah went back to charming the men. It was all going fine until the building was rocked by an explosion.

"What the fuck?" she muttered as the nerds all ran for the exits. She looked around for any sign of Casey and Chuck, coughing through the smoke that was filling the building. She took a few steps, trying to find the stairs to the mezzanine, but then the sprinklers went off. The cold smelly water came down in buckets and sent Sarah fleeing for the exit, too.

Hightailing it back to the surveillance van, she spotted two tall figures and felt a rush of relief. She hurried to catch up with them and joined them at the van.

"You're okay?" she asked, looking back and forth between Chuck and Casey as they climbed inside.

"Yeah, although we lost Morimoto," Casey said, sounding grumpy as he got behind the wheel of the van.

"Morimoto put the override code on the kill screen of _Missile Command_!" Chuck said, his eyes wide. "If someone can play the game to the end and win, we'd have the code and everything would . . . be . . ."

Chuck's voice trailed off, then his ears turned red. Sarah frowned, trying to figure out what was going on. Then the cold dampness of her shirt penetrated her mind and she looked down, seeing the pale blue lace of her bra appear like a shadow through the thin white cotton.

"Sorry! I'm sorry! Let me-let me just get you something-"

From the front seat, Casey grunted. Sarah took a deep breath, trying through sheer willpower alone to keep her nipples from pebbling.

"Chuck, it's okay," she said. "Just turn around so I can change."

He spun around in his chair so quickly that he banged his elbow into the counter that ran along the side of the van, provoking a loud "Ouch!" from him-and another grunt from Casey.

Getting up and moving to the back of the van, Sarah braced herself as Casey drove back to Castle. As she quickly changed back into her trousers and grabbed a black long-sleeved shirt from the mini-wardrobe, she kept an eye out, but Chuck never moved.

She shouldn't feel that embarrassed. This kind of thing happened and she'd never been shy about changing in mixed company. But for some reason, all she could think was that she was glad she had chosen one of her nice bras this morning.

XXX

Was he really using his rifle to break the glass on the vending machine and get a snack?

As Sarah watched one of Bulsara's flunkies grab a bag of chips, she rolled her eyes. It looked like Fulcrum was having a real problem finding good people. Bulsara seemed fairly skilled and was plenty intimidating, she had to admit, but if this was the best he could hire, Fulcrum must not be paying too much. It'd be something to include in her debrief.

But first, she had some punching to do. And that was just what the doctor ordered. With all the strange awareness she felt whenever she was around Chuck, with trying to protect him and keep him safe while at the same time not getting distracted by the fact that once, when he was a different man, she had slept with him in a night of passion she kept dreaming about . . . With all that, she welcomed the chance to be a spy like anyone else and kick some ass.

Coming up behind the guy, she yanked his gun around and hit him hard with the butt of the rifle. He flailed but jabbed at her, his fist brushing along her jaw and sending her head back. She used that momentum to shift back onto her heels and kick his legs out from under him. Then she gathered all her strength and punched him square in the face as he went down.

Picking up the rifle, Sarah moved on, looking for Bulsara as she walked through the local television station. Chuck had used the Intersect-or "flashed," using his term-to realize that Bulsara must be here, using the station's satellite dish to direct the missile on the Japanese satellite. She just had to prevent that from happening and hope that somehow, Jeff the former _Missile Command_ world champion was able to find the override code.

The amount of doubt she had in that outcome was large enough to fill the Grand Canyon. But Chuck had looked so distraught at the possibility of civilian casualties from the Air Force shooting down the satellite that she had quickly gone along with his plan.

Once she found the control room, Sarah knew she'd find Bulsara. He was bent over a computer, typing away. She slowly crept up behind him, but her footsteps must not have been quiet enough, because he turned and lashed out at her.

Swinging the rifle at him, she aimed for his face but missed. She cursed under her breath as he wrenched the gun out of her hands and tried to jab the butt into her gut. In the tight, confined space between a bank of computers that came up to her shoulder and the wall of monitors and computers that Bulsara had been working at, he had the advantage over her. But that had never stopped her before.

Sarah punched and kicked, using all the martial arts skills she had learned over her years in the CIA. And as she did so, a lovely clarity fell over her. In this, there was no doubt, no questions. There was just attack and defend, parry and punch. Judo and aikido, not soft eyes and big smiles.

This was what she was good at. This was what she knew. She was kidding herself if she thought she could be anything more than this: a spy.

When her opening came, she didn't hesitate. She hit Bulsara with a one-two combination and he went down.

Breathing hard, Sarah sat down in front of the computer, noting how the screen displayed a progress bar that was at seventy percent. She stared at it all, trying to figure out what she should do, when her phone rang.

"I did it, Sarah!" Chuck's voice was jubilant, full of pride and success and confidence. She hadn't ever heard him sound like that. In fact, he sounded more like-

She made herself focus on what he was saying. "I beat _Missile Command_! I'm at the kill screen."

"Great-give me the code, Chuck," she said, quickly typing the letters as he read them to her. The progress bar stopped at ninety-two percent and Sarah couldn't help grinning. Because they had won.

"You did it, Chuck," she said, smiling so hard that she thought her face might crack.

He was panting, sounding out of breath from his accomplishment. And just like that, the clarity was gone. All the doubt and confusion and the rest of her messy feelings were back.

This couldn't keep happening. She had to gain some control over herself. Had to get some distance. She didn't know what was happening to her.

It'd be one thing if she was working with Carmichael again. Then, she'd at least know he'd act like a professional during business hours. She might not know much about him, but she knew that much. Or at least, she had that sense of him. That he'd understand what happened after a mission didn't have to affect the working relationship. And working with Carmichael had been good.

But with Chuck . . . he was a civilian. He didn't know the rules. And if she explained the rules, he would take it as an admission of her having feelings for him. Which she didn't really have. Sure, he was kind of cute and very sweet, but . . . but that didn't mean she had feelings for him. Chuck might feel something for her, although if he did it was unfortunate. Because nothing could happen between them. And she should say something to Chuck, try and keep his feelings in check. But after everything he had been through, with his romantic past and now dealing with the Intersect . . . she didn't seem to have it in her to crush his spirits like that.

Taking a few deep breaths, Sarah called for a CIA team to extract Bulsara and his flunkie. She still had plenty of work to do: wait for the terrorists to be picked up, write up her report on this mission, ensure that the satellite was properly destroyed now that the missile was no longer a threat. That would be plenty to keep her busy for the rest of the night and into tomorrow.

The last thing she should be thinking of was finding Chuck and making sure he was okay. Because he was fine.

XXX

Some days, her job really sucked.

Girding herself, Sarah walked into the courtyard of Chuck's apartment complex. Ellie had called with some questions about Chuck, in light of his hanging out with Jeff and drinking-apparently alcohol was bad for Chuck's brain-so they were going to have a meeting at Casey's place.

She'd rather be doing paperwork than coming so close to Chuck. Not when she was in such a muddle. Because she had the sneaking suspicion that she'd wind up going to check on him, even though she knew if anything was wrong, Ellie was the better person to take care of him.

Glancing around, Sarah made a beeline for Casey's apartment and knocked firmly on the door. The NSA agent yanked the door open and smirked, his cigar moving into the corner of his mouth. "Walker."

"Casey," she said, waving her hand to bat aside any lingering smoke as she stepped inside. He rolled his eyes but put out his cigar, going along with her earlier request that he not smoke around her.

Ellie gave Sarah a small smile from her place at Casey's kitchen table, a top-of-the-line laptop already opened. "Hi, Sarah. Doing okay?"

"I'm fine," Sarah said, taking a seat. "Just a bit tired." She rubbed her knuckles, trying to ease some of the soreness she had picked up during her fight with Bulsara.

"Do you need me to look at that?" Ellie asked, leaning in towards her to get a better look at her hand.

Her kindness made Sarah feel churlish. Like she was subjecting everyone to her bad mood unnecessarily. So she did her best to smile and shake her head. "Just a few bruises. A hot shower will do the trick once I get home."

"And some whisky," Casey said, sitting down with a glass of brown liquid.

Sarah silently agreed but wouldn't give Casey the satisfaction of knowing that. "How's Chuck doing?" she asked Ellie.

"I'm probably worrying for nothing," Ellie said. "But I got concerned when Chuck had to hang out with creepy, serial killer Jeff. I know . . . I know that Chuck isn't who my brother is anymore, but still, my big sister instincts kicked in," she admitted, sounding sheepish.

Casey's lips twitched, probably dying to come out with some cutting, smart-ass remark. But he held back and let Ellie continue.

"However, I did want to talk about Chuck's stress levels," Ellie said, turning to her computer and letting her hands fly over the keys. "Ever since he started using the Intersect, I've been attempting to correlate usage with general indicators of stress: blood pressure, heart rate, mental acuity."

"I thought you were only concerned about Chuck's brain," Sarah said, leaning forward a little.

"At first, yes. But now that he has both the Intersect and the cover identity, and hasn't immediately shown any negative effects, I've switched my focus to looking at how the Intersect might affect his body," Ellie said. "After all, if his body gives out, it won't really matter if his brain is handling the Intersect, will it?"

"And since the kid's out of shape and a couch potato . . ." Casey said, letting his voice trail off.

Ellie nodded. "Yeah. I've been trying to encourage him to do some moderate cardio exercise, but since Chuck's always been pretty slim in spite of his diet, he's been pushing me off." She turned her head to look at Sarah. "Which is where I thought you might come in."

"Me?" Sarah asked, feeling ridiculous as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Because it wasn't like Ellie wasn't suggesting exactly what Sarah had already been thinking about.

Casey let out a soft snort and took a drink of whisky. Ellie fidgeted a little with her engagement and wedding rings. "Yes, you, Sarah. As his girlfriend, it'd be perfectly natural that you'd encourage him to get into shape. Just by setting an example of someone who's in good shape, someone who exercises."

"Not to mention the sex he wants people to think he's having," Casey said.

Sarah glared at Casey, then chose to ignore him. "You're his doctor, can't you just tell him he needs to exercise?" Sarah asked Ellie.

"I'm also his sister-he's spent his whole life ignoring me and pretending he isn't," Ellie said. "He's really good at it." Reaching out, she rested a hand on Sarah's forearm. "Don't go crazy with it. Ease into it. I can start working on him, saying that I bet this girlfriend of his that I still haven't met would prefer him to be in shape."

Mind over matter, Sarah told herself. That was how she'd keep herself from blushing. "Fine," she said. "Chuck has mentioned that you've said you want to meet me. Perhaps it's time to set up a double date."

"Definitely," Ellie said. "If only to stop talking about meeting you for the first time when I already know you," she added with a grin.

She gave Ellie a weak smile. That dichotomy was basic stuff to spies, but then, Ellie was a civilian. "Anything else?"

"No, I think that's it," Ellie said. "Chuck has his next brain scan the week after next; once I've analyzed the information, I'll be able to combine that with the physical data I have and prepare a report for Director Graham. But on the whole, Chuck's handling this really well. That's what you've seen, right?"

Casey shrugged and Sarah nodded. "He's been tired some nights, like he has a headache, but they usually happen when he's had to flash a lot," she explained.

"Yeah, I've seen that, too," Ellie said. "The headaches, I mean. I'd almost prefer them to how he acted when he came home tonight."

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

Ellie chuckled. "He's pulling his 'I'm a golden god' routine. Always happens when he beats a video game. You should come see it, Sarah."

There was no reason for her to go see Chuck. If nothing else, he might ask if she had run into Ellie and that would negate the need for the double date. And he was fine-Ellie said he was. If she didn't know any better, she'd think Ellie was trying to set her up with Chuck, which was completely fucking pointless, because she was already "dating" Chuck.

As if sensing her hesitation, Ellie said, "Chuck thinks I'm out with some friends. And I actually am going out, to meet Devon at the hospital for dinner. So just go to his window and let yourself in."

And now Casey was smirking at her and Ellie looked so imploring that all her resistance just crumbled away. She nodded a little and stood up. "I'll go check on him before I head home."

"Great," Ellie said with a big smile. She started packing up her laptop, chatting with Casey as Sarah turned and left.

With each step that took her closer to the Bartowski-Woodcomb apartment, Sarah felt her confusion increase. Why had she let herself be talked into seeing him, when the one thing she really needed was distance? Some time away to get her head clear, to remind herself that this was just an assignment? It was a one-year mission that would end with Chuck Bartowski disappearing into her memories-memories that would be bittersweet. No, not bittersweet. She would not let herself be someone who got all weepy and nostalgic over a mission. This was her job and she didn't cry over it.

Sticking her head into the nearly-floor-to-ceiling window that opened into his bedroom, Sarah looked around but didn't see any sign of Chuck. Unconsciously, her hand went to her lower back, feeling the knife she kept there. Turning, she moved to the front door of the apartment and banged on it.

It took a few agonizingly long moments for Chuck to open the door. He was wearing his Nerd Herd uniform, although the tie and pocket protector was gone and his shirt buttons were undone, revealing his white undershirt. A half-full bottle of beer was in his hand. "Sarah?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Chuck. Hi," she said. See? He was fine. Whatever adrenaline Ellie had seen had clearly worn off and now he was just Chuck. So she could go now.

"Hey . . ." he said, looking at her before blurting out. "I didn't get a chance to tell you before, but having you come in at the Atari building in the Nerd Herd uniform? That wasn't my idea, it was Casey's, he just told you it was mine and I don't know why but I wouldn't do that. I'm really sorry, Sarah."

And just like that, a piece of the puzzle that she had been trying to make fit suddenly didn't belong to this puzzle at all.

She gave him a small smile. "It's okay. You don't have to apologize."

"I don't?" he asked, looking incredibly relieved. "Whew. I was scared at the thought of you being mad at me."

"Really?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. This wasn't the first time he had used the idea of her being mad at him as something he worried about.

"Of course I am," he said promptly. "You're Sarah Walker."

What did that mean? He said it as if it was obvious what the answer was, but Sarah had no idea. So she pushed it aside and gestured to the beer. "Is that the best idea, after all you drank with Jeff?"

He let out a small laugh. "One a night, that's my limit. Believe me, Ellie's already given me the lecture. But I was sitting out on the patio, looking at the stars, and . . . and what's better than a beer when you're doing that?"

When he put it like that, Sarah had to agree with him. She gave him a small smile. "Got a beer for me?"

How on Earth did Carmichael come up with Chuck Bartowski? She knew that Ellie said Chuck was a lot like his childhood personality, but Sarah couldn't believe that this sweet, thoughtful, kind of shy person was existing inside Charles Carmichael. Because when she asked him if she could join him, his face got this happy, joyful expression. Like she had just given him something he wanted so much and thought he'd never get. How could a man who became a spy ever be this open, this transparent?

She just didn't get it. At all.

"Yeah! Yeah, there's one for you. C'mon, we can go out and watch the stars-there's not a lot of smog tonight, so we can see everything. There's this one really bright meteor tonight-it can't be the Perseids, it's too early for the peak showers, but it's still gorgeous."

He lead her into the apartment, babbling a mile a minute and not giving her a chance to explain just what that meteor was: the Air Force, bouncing Morimoto's satellite off the atmosphere and burning it up. A man-made meteor, she supposed. One that could safely be said was Chuck's. Because without him, it wouldn't exist at all.

End, Chapter 5


	6. Chapter 6

Juggling a tray of coffees and a bag of pastries and fruit, Sarah slid her hand into the pocket of her jeans for the Orange Orange keys. Four months into Operation Bartowski, they had developed a routine: whoever wasn't picking up Chuck was the one who got coffee and breakfast. Which usually meant she got breakfast, since Casey lived in the same complex as Chuck while Sarah's apartment was next door to a French bakery.

Once she got the door open, Sarah elbowed her way in and headed down to Castle. It had been over two weeks since they had a mission, and the lack of work was starting to get to her. Without anything to distract her, she was in her own head too much. And right now, that was the last place she wanted to be.

Setting down the food and drinks, Sarah focused on pulling together the overnight intelligence reports and got them ready for Chuck. Not until that was done and the computers and video screens were on and warmed up did she stop and take her coffee and fruit. Sitting down, she sipped slowly, enjoying the delicious brew. Casey might grumble about how this mission was a lot less important than ones in Afghanistan, but she knew the coffee was a lot better here.

And she would need the extra caffeine today, since she had to have a difficult conversation with Chuck. One that she had been mulling over since last night, during their double date with Ellie and Devon. Because the date and thinking about what had happened had prompted another round of dreams of that night with Carmichael. But she couldn't think about that now, because it would make this upcoming conversation even more awkward for her.

XXX

Thanks to paperwork, Sarah didn't have a chance to go back to her apartment and change clothes before her date with Chuck, his sister and her husband. So she took advantage of the wardrobe in Castle, donning a pair of dark-rinse jeans and a blue print top. Then she headed over to the Buy More, her red-and-blue heels clicking against the ground and a spring in her step.

Sarah had been looking forward to tonight, to her "first" meeting of Chuck's family. Because having Ellie and Devon there was bound to create a buffer between Chuck and herself. With his sister there, Chuck would be less likely to look at her in that way, the one that made her feel so confused. And thanks to a lack of missions provided by the Intersect, she had been able to limit her contact with Chuck. The less time she spent with him, the less time she was confused.

It was doubtful that such a strategy was considered an acceptable handler-asset relationship, but this was no normal partnership. Sarah figured they could make their own rules. And right now, she needed some space. Fortunately, some new video game had just come out, so Chuck and Morgan were all wrapped up in playing it. Although Chuck had invited her over several times to watch him play, Sarah had no problem with turning him down. And Chuck had seemingly understood, giving her a wide smile and nodding each time. Like he understood she would say no, but that he would keep asking anyway.

As she entered the Buy More, she could see to the Nerd Herd desk, where . . . Chuck was getting a hug. Which honestly wasn't that unusual, she had discovered: customers seemed to latch onto him. But this customer wasn't some sweet-looking grandmother, but a petite brunette who was definitely pushing her breasts against Chuck's chest.

What the fuck would she do next, take his hand and put it up her skirt? Sarah frowned and picked up her pace, only for the brunette to pull back, give Chuck a big, toothy smile and then walk away. And Chuck was definitely watching her walk away.

"Who was that?" And damn it, she sounded a little bit jealous.

"Huh? Oh!" Chuck practically jumped in the air when he turned and saw her. "Sarah! Hi. Hi, Sarah. Um, who was that? Oh, a customer. Lou. Her name is Lou. Lou the customer."

What was it with Southern California and these strange, strange names?

"And just what did she need help with?" Sarah asked, reaching up and adjusting Chuck's tie a little. This Lou character might be Fulcrum and the hug would be the perfect opportunity to plant a bug on him.

"Oh, her phone crashed. Just had to work a little Bartowski magic and voila, good as new." Chuck smiled nervously. "Because that's my job. Nerd Herd supervisor, that's me."

"Well, good," Sarah said, dropping her hands and giving him a small smile. "Are you ready to go?" When his expression stayed blank, she prompted, "Our date with Ellie and Devon?"

"Right! Yes! Yes, I am ready. Except for needing to go home and change. Like you did, because you look great. Did I tell you that yet? Because you do. Really, really great."

Wow, his babbling was off the charts today. If she didn't put him out of his misery soon, he'd stroke out. And since the CIA probably wouldn't like that, she focused on calming him down.

Sarah patted his shoulder and gave him a smile. "Thank you. We've got enough time to swing by your apartment before we meet Ellie and Devon."

"Okay, great," he said, giving her a quick smile. "I'm excited about tonight. Ellie's gonna love you. Devon, too-you're someone he can talk to about being awesome." He followed her out to her Porsche, talking about Captain Awesome's latest exploits. Sarah found herself enjoying the conversation, just like she always did. Chuck was really easy to talk to-and if she didn't feel like talking, he was usually perfectly content to carry the conversation.

After a quick stop so Chuck could change into a dark button-down and jeans, they headed towards Brentwood to meet Ellie and Devon, who were both coming off shifts at the hospital. Once they were seated at the sushi bar and sake was ordered, Sarah focused on asking the kind of questions a girl asked when she was meeting her boyfriend's family. At least, according to the research she had done yesterday.

Since her conversations with Ellie were mostly professional, Sarah got the sense that the older woman was taking advantage of this date to get some personal information out of Sarah. Of course, Ellie might or might not realize that Sarah's answers were not completely real-that she was sticking to her cover story of a girl trying to move on after a bad relationship, trying to figure out her life. Which wasn't at all who Sarah was.

Devon, on the other hand, had no idea that Sarah was anything other than Chuck's girlfriend. And the handsome, charming male Dr. Woodcomb certainly lived up to Chuck's nickname. He was just so damn cheerful, Sarah thought as she nibbled on some edamame. According to the dossier on him, Devon Christian Woodcomb was exactly as he appeared: former fraternity member, straight-A student, a cardiothoracic surgeon who enjoyed extreme sports and charity work.

At least he obviously was head-over-heels for his wife. Even though they had been married for over a year now, he took any and every opportunity to touch her, to show his love and admiration for her.

His only flaw seemed to be a complete lack of timing. Sarah had just put a piece of octopus into her mouth when Devon said, "So, Chuckster, I've gotta ask-you two, what's the story?"

"Story? What do you mean, Devon?" Chuck asked, looking incredibly nervous.

"It's been three months-"

"Almost four, actually," Ellie interjected, dipping her California roll into some soy sauce.

"Four months, then," Devon said, grinning at Ellie for a moment before turning back to Chuck, "and there's been no overnight visits. Kinda hinky, when you've got a gorgeous girl like Sarah." Devon smiled at Sarah, his words completely free from a leer or smirk.

That was what saved him, because otherwise Sarah would have put a chopstick through his ear. For a moment, she remembered the first time she did that, how the man's blood spurted out, all warm and red and- She chewed as quickly as she could, trying to step in before Chuck could completely mangle this. Because he looked totally thrown by Devon's question.

"We-we're-" God damn it, this was the chewiest piece of octopus she had ever had. Somehow, she managed to swallow. "We're taking things slow. Since we're both coming off relationships that didn't go so well."

"It's been over a year since Jill-" Devon began to say, only for Ellie to interrupt him.

"Devon, this is none of our business." She gave Sarah an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Devon's just a born romantic."

"Always have been," Devon said with a grin, popping a piece of salmon into his mouth.

"That's very sweet. How did you two meet?" Sarah asked, immediately taking advantage of a potential topic shift that would keep the conversation from returning to how slow the relationship between Chuck and herself was moving.

Happily, Ellie took control and began recounting her first meeting with Devon, full of cute compliments about sweaters matching eyes and a quickie in a supply closet-a fact that made Chuck turn bright red. After that, the discussion shifted to what had happened during work that day for Ellie and Devon.

"It was a really challenging case," Ellie said, refilling her sake glass. "I had this patient who had all the symptoms of being poisoned, but it wasn't a poison that anyone was familiar with. He was babbling for an hour, the poor man. Then he slipped into a coma. When I left, the prognosis wasn't good." She took a long swallow from her glass, her eyes shadowed.

"Tell 'em the weirdest part, babe," Devon said, rubbing her back gently.

"There's something weirder than the best doctor in the world being stumped?" Chuck asked, his voice sympathetic.

Ellie gave Chuck a small smile. "You've said that ever since I put Band-Aids on your action figures to heal them after-what was it? The Cataclysm or Catastrophe or-"

"Crisis on Infinite Earths," Chuck said with a small smile.

"That's it." Ellie blew out a breath and then reached into her pocket. "At some point, my patient slipped this into my sweater pocket. Weird, right?" She held up a gold pendant necklace, something that didn't look very special or unique. There were probably a hundred similar pendants for sale within a square mile.

"Weird . . ." Chuck said, his voice trailing off, but in a way Sarah had become familiar with. He was having a flash.

"Definitely odd," Sarah said, trying to cover for Chuck. "Shouldn't you have given it to the police or something? I mean, if a patient was poisoned, the police must be involved."

"I didn't find it until after I left the hospital," Ellie explained, shooting a look at Chuck. "I'll turn it in tomorrow morning."

Sarah smiled and let the matter drop. Thankfully, their dinner was practically over; there was just the check and then walking out to their respective cars. Ellie and Devon waved to them before leaving, letting Sarah turn immediately towards Chuck.

"What was it?" she asked, her voice low.

"The man-Ellie's patient-his name is Mason Whitney. The necklace contains nuclear launch codes. Codes that Fulcrum wants." Chuck looked at her, his eyes wide. "Is my sister in danger? I mean, clearly, a bad guy is after those codes and now Ellie's got them and what if something happens to her?"

"Calm down, Chuck," Sarah said, making her voice as soothing as possible. "It's going to be all right. This is what I want you to do: before Ellie leaves for work tomorrow, you find a way to get that necklace and you'll bring it to Castle in the morning. If Ellie doesn't have it, she'll be safe."

"Are you sure about that?" Chuck asked, his eyes not leaving her face. "Ellie doesn't know anything about spies or anything-she's just a doctor. If she says she doesn't have it, the bad guys might hurt her."

"The hospital's got security and dozens of people around all the time, Chuck." He was really upset about this, in a way Sarah hadn't anticipated. She hadn't had a chance to see just how much Chuck worried about Ellie. "If anyone tried anything, they'd save her."

He still looked upset, his forehead wrinkled, but he nodded slowly. "What are we gonna do with the necklace?"

"We'll figure out who would attack Whitney to obtain the codes, and then we'll deal with whoever that is," Sarah said, taking Chuck's arm and walking with him to her car. "It'll work out, I promise."

"You do?" Chuck asked, a small, hesitant smile on his face. "That . . . that makes me feel better."

And to her absolute shock, Sarah realized that was why she had said it.

During the drive to Chuck's apartment, he was quiet. She almost wished he'd chatter away about video games or comic books or even Ellie. Anything to break the silence in the car-anything to keep her mind from returning to Devon's question about the speed of their relationship.

It wasn't what she should be dwelling on, not with such an important mission, but she couldn't seem to stop. Was Devon right? Was it hinky that they had been dating for nearly four months without having sex? So hinky that it would create doubt about their relationship?

When she dropped Chuck off, he gave her a small nod and climbed out of the car, not hearing her question about whether he wanted her to walk him to the door. Sarah cursed as she watched him walk away. Now they couldn't reinforce the cover by having a good night kiss at the front door, one that was hopefully observed by Devon.

Although honestly, a peck on the lips wouldn't be enough right now. No . . . no, it was time to step up their game. So as she returned to her apartment, Sarah began to look for a way to tell Chuck that they needed to make love.

XXX

Within a few minutes of her arrival, Chuck and Casey walked in. Chuck looked a bit tired, but he proudly held out the necklace to Sarah. "I got it. I told Casey what happened last night."

"Yeah, thanks for callin' me, Walker," Casey said, grabbing his coffee and bear claw.

"While Chuck works on going through the overnight intelligence, I was going to bring you up to speed and determine our next move," Sarah said, refusing to let Casey bully her.

Casey grunted and sat down, tearing a huge chunk out of his pastry. Chuck joined him, taking his coffee and jelly doughnut. Sliding the folders of reports to him, Sarah gave him a small smile. "Go through that and then I need to talk to you, okay?"

He looked at her, a small wrinkle appearing in his forehead, but nodded. "Okay, Sarah," he said, taking a long swallow of coffee before flipping open the first folder.

While Chuck reviewed, Sarah described what Ellie had told them last night. "So Fulcrum's lookin' for some nukes?" Casey asked, devouring the last of his bear claw.

"That's what it seems," Sarah said. "Problem is, we have no idea who's doing this."

"Well, the guy was poisoned-we find out what was used, we can narrow things down," Casey pointed out. "We get the records from the hospital and we're good."

"Thanks to HIPAA, the computer systems at hospitals are not exactly easy to break into," Sarah said, frowning.

"I can do it."

In unison, Sarah and Casey looked at Chuck. He shrugged. "I used to do some hacking back in the day. I could get into the hospital's records."

A small snort erupted out of Casey. "Think you're some kinda spy now?" The NSA agent smirked, which made Sarah grit her teeth. Alluding to who Chuck really was definitely wasn't a smart idea-it could create tension in his mind between his real self and the cover identity.

Chuck's ears went red and he ducked his head. Sarah took in his body language and turned to Casey. "Neither of us are exactly Einstein when it comes to computers. What's the harm in letting Chuck try? It'd save us time if he could do it, instead of having to wait for someone in D.C. to do the job."

Casey grunted, sounding disgusted. "Fine. I'll start checkin' up on who Whitney was working for." Pushing away from the conference table, Casey went to the office he used, shooting Sarah an annoyed look as he left.

She'd probably get accused of coddling the asset. But right now, Sarah could give a fuck what Casey thought. More pressing was dealing with Chuck and how their relationship appeared to outsiders.

Rolling her chair so she was sitting directly across from Chuck, she reached out and rested a hand on top of his for a moment. "Thank you for volunteering to help us, Chuck."

"I probably won't get anything, but . . . but I'll try," he said, glancing at her quickly before lowering his eyes again, but not before she saw a spark of confidence in his eyes.

It would seem her talks with Chuck had sunk in. Offering to help with a task he could do from the safety of Castle was within the limits of an asset's role and Sarah was happy to allow him to do that. And now that he was feeling slightly better about himself and Casey wasn't around, it was as good a time as any to bring up their fake relationship.

"Chuck?" she asked. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Yeah?" he replied, glancing at her as he lifted his coffee cup and tilted it back.

"I think we need to make love."

He choked on his coffee, lowering his cup. Somehow, he managed not to spit the mouthful of hot beverage at her, but he quickly rubbed his hand over his mouth as if checking for any drops of coffee lingering on his lips. He looked at her with wide eyes. "Ex-excuse me?"

Why the fuck had she started like this? 'We need to make love'? Jesus Christ, had she ever been less smooth? She cleared her throat and started speaking. "I'm concerned that we're taking things too slow. Devon's questions last night made me realize that we need to show your family that things are progressing between us. So I need to spend the night with you."

Chuck blinked, his long eyelashes sweeping against his cheeks. "You-you'd spend the night? With me?"

"Yes," Sarah said, sitting up straight and trying to act in control. "It would appear to Ellie and Devon that we would have sex. But all we'd do is sleep."

"Oh. Of course. Right. Sleeping." Chuck shifted in his seat, looking anywhere but her.

Sarah cursed herself again for fucking this up. Taking a deep breath, she stood and walked around the table, taking a seat next to him. "I'm sorry, Chuck-I just blurted that out. I know how strange this is . . ."

"I don't think you do," Chuck said quickly, before frowning and blowing out a breath. "Sorry. I mean . . . yeah, it is strange."

Although she wanted to reach out and rest her hand on his arm, to offer him some kind of support, something made her hold back. She didn't think touch was the right course at this moment. Which left words, which had never been a strong suit for her.

"In this job, I . . . I've had to do a lot of things that are weird," Sarah said haltingly. "After a while, though, they get less weird. I forgot that you weren't like me, that having to fake a relationship is new to you. I forgot because you've done a lot of good things, Chuck. You've been the difference between success and failure on several missions already, doing more than most spies I've worked with. I know this is really awkward, but-but we can get through this and keep getting the job done."

Was that true? Was her knowledge of his true self confusing her, making her think of him as a spy? Sarah wasn't sure, but the words were out and she couldn't take them back without making things even more awkward. She just hoped Chuck focused more on the second part of her message.

Fortunately, that seemed to be the case. He seemed reassured-in fact, he seemed somewhat pleased, even though she wasn't quite sure why. "What . . . what do we have to do?"

"It's pretty straightforward," Sarah said. "Some night soon, I'll come over and we'll share your bed. We'll have to make it look authentic. But once we're in your room, we can drop the act." Somehow, she managed a small, lopsided smile. "I never went on any sleepovers when I was growing up. Now I finally get the chance."

He let out a small laugh. "Really? Never?"

"Nope," Sarah said, feeling relieved. "So how would tomorrow night work?"

"I think that'd be okay. Ellie and Devon aren't working, so they'd be around, and I work a morning shift tomorrow and then a night shift the day after."

"Perfect," she said, rising to her feet and giving him a smile. "If you could get a ride home with Casey tomorrow night, I'll come over around eight?"

"Okay," he said, looking up at her. "Tomorrow at eight."

She gave him a nod of her head and went over to the desk she used, settling in to examine the necklace that Mason Whitney had slipped to Ellie. Yet as she worked, she could feel Chuck's eyes on her back while he finished going through the overnight reports.

And it made her wonder just what he was thinking.

XXX

As Sarah walked towards the door of the Bartowski-Woodcomb apartment, she told herself that there was no reason to feel vulnerable. Yes, she might be wearing a skimpy nightgown under her loose jersey dress and cardigan, something appropriate for a girl who was seducing her boyfriend. Yes, she only had to convince Devon, a natural-born sucker who just needed to see her show up at this hour to know what was happening. Yes, Ellie knew this was all fake and so far had never failed to uphold her part of protecting Chuck's cover identity. And most importantly, Chuck himself knew she wasn't coming over tonight to seduce him.

But that didn't change the fact that she was nibbling on her lower lip. Because . . . because she couldn't remember the last time she had shared a bed with someone of the opposite sex for the whole night. It might have been with Bryce, which was so long ago that she couldn't pinpoint when it had actually happened. And besides, when they slept together, they weren't just sleeping.

And the last time she had shared a bed at all, it was with the man inside the apartment that she was about to pretend to seduce. A man who had given her the best night of her life.

With a shake of her head, Sarah dismissed the memory and knocked on the door.

Ellie opened the door and smiled brightly. "Hi, Sarah! Chuck told us you were coming over." She took Sarah's arm and drew her into the apartment. "He's in his room getting ready. He's very excited about tonight," Ellie said, laughing quietly.

"Hey, Sarah," Devon said from the couch, wearing scrubs and a tired expression. But he still gave her a big smile. "Nice to see you two taking the next step-"

"Devon!" Ellie interrupted. She gave Sarah a gentle nudge towards Chuck's bedroom. "Have a good night, Sarah."

She wasn't exactly sure what was going on with Ellie, why she was all but shoving Sarah down the hall, but now wasn't the time to stand around and figure this out. So she gave them a small, slightly shy smile (that was only partly put on for their benefit) before turning and walking quietly down the hall to Chuck's bedroom.

His door was partly open, letting her watch him from the hall for a moment. There were candles scattered around the room, providing soft light and the faint fragrance of vanilla and spice. Some kind of soft music was playing, with guitars and an earnest voice singing in a mumble. And he was doing some strange dance, something that was dorky but also a little bit endearing.

It was enough to make her let out a soft huff of laughter-but not soft enough. Because Chuck stopped and spun around, looking at her with red ears.

"Hi, Chuck," she said, slipping into the room and closing the door behind her.

"Hi. Hey. Um . . . I hope this all is okay?" he said, gesturing around his room.

"It's fine. It sells the cover, which is what's important," Sarah said, sliding off her cardigan and toeing off her flats. She draped the cardigan over his desk chair.

"So, um, what do we do now?" Chuck said, swinging his arms awkwardly at his sides.

Sarah ran her hands through her hair. Just to give herself something to do, not because she wanted to fluff the curls she had spent a half-hour creating. "Well . . . we just stay in here. And then we'll go to sleep."

"It's that easy?" Chuck asked, looking surprised.

"Yeah, it's that easy," she said, smiling a little. She set her bag down on his desk chair, reaching in to pull out a few magazines she had bought to leave behind, just to underscore the increased amount of comfort that would exist between her and Chuck after tonight.

Chuck had moved over to the far side of the bed-not his normal side, according to the surveillance videos she had watched over the course of this assignment, which made Sarah curious about his choice. When she glanced over at him, he already had some kind of handheld video game system out, playing away. As if he sensed her gaze, he looked up at her quickly. "Do you need something to sleep in?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm good." Turning her back towards him slightly, Sarah reached down and pulled her dress up and over her head, revealing the pale blue nightgown that clung to her curves. It was relatively modest: no cutouts and a higher neckline, but it was close-fitting to compensate for that.

There was a soft thump. As she turned back around, she saw that Chuck had dropped his game and was staring at her, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open a little.

"Chuck?" she asked, wondering what was prompting such a reaction. Yes, she was attractive, but he was looking at her like he'd never seen a woman before.

"W-wh-what is that?"

"A nightgown?" she said slowly.

"But-but I didn't know . . . I should have worked out," Chuck said nonsensically.

Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to figure out where his mind was at. She moved away from the desk and sat on the edge of his bed. "Why?"

"Because if you're looking like that, shouldn't I . . . you know? Be shirtless?" Chuck plucked at his t-shirt. "For the cover? I mean, that's why you're wearing that, right?"

And once again, she had messed up. Because he was right. She should have done more to prep him for this, telling him about the wardrobe and such. It was just luck that he had thought to do candles and music-wait.

Why had he done candles and music? He knew this wasn't real, yet he had done exactly what a man would do when his girlfriend was coming over for the night. And he hadn't done it because he was thinking about their cover. She didn't understand what was going on, but she had to regain control. Had to stop fucking up like this and not explaining things to Chuck.

"Yeah . . . I'm wearing this because . . . you know. If I ran into Ellie in the hallway on the way to the bathroom, or Devon in the morning in the kitchen . . ." Sarah could feel her cheeks go a little pink and tried to keep herself calm and cool. "But you're fine as you are. I mean, you wouldn't normally walk around shirtless, right?"

Chuck gave her a lopsided smile. "I leave that to Awesome."

She couldn't help laughing a little. In the four months she had been working with Chuck, Sarah was pretty sure she had laughed more than she had in the past three years. "Okay. Then you can go back to your game, and I'll read my magazines, and everything will be fine."

His eyes lingered on her as he nodded. Those deep brown eyes of his seemed full of things he was holding back, making her wish she knew what was going on in his mind. Reminding her of sitting at a bar and having drinks together and-

No, that didn't happen. Not with Chuck.

Standing up, Sarah got the magazines and sat down on the bed. She leaned back against the pillows, her legs stretched out in front of her, and opened up the first magazine. She tried to act engrossed, tried to find something that would keep her from thinking any more. Thankfully, Chuck shifted beside her, picking up his video game and resuming playing.

They didn't say anything for the next hour. The music kept playing, with occasional beeps from Chuck's game and the soft flick of her magazine pages. So it was easy to hear the raised voices coming from down the hall. It seemed like Ellie and Devon were having some kind of fight.

A fight that was on the move.

"Chuck!"

Ellie's voice through the closed door sounded hyper, almost manic. Moving quickly, Sarah tossed aside her magazine and rolled over on top of Chuck, taking his game system and shoving it under the pillows. She looked in his eyes for a second and then lowered her head to his neck.

This wasn't the first time they had needed to instantly look like a couple, so Chuck knew how to make it look real. But he always tensed up when it happened-always got nervous, like he wasn't sure he was allowed to touch her.

The door slammed against the wall as Ellie stormed into the room. "I have known him since the day he was born!"

Sarah sat up, sliding to Chuck's side as Ellie kneeled on the bed, a wide grin on her face. "And do you know what he always said he wanted to be when he grew up?" Without waiting for an answer, Ellie continued. "A big boy! And that's what he is now."

Chuck looked like he wanted to be anywhere other than here. He turned his face towards Devon, who had followed Ellie into the room and who looked both confused and frustrated. "Is she drunk?!" Chuck asked out of the corner of his mouth.

Devon just shrugged. "Sorry, guys, didn't mean to wreck the moment. Ellie, come on, let's leave them alone."

Ellie ignored her husband and faced Sarah. "You know how I know Chuck's a big boy? Because he's with a big, big girl!"

Either Ellie was checking her out or she was calling her fat. Sarah wasn't sure and would probably have a nightmare about this later. "Ellie . . . are you all right?"

"Not that you're really with him," Ellie said, pouting. "But you should be! You two are so cute together."

A cold chill went down her spine. What the hell? Why was Ellie saying this? And Devon didn't know the truth about her relationship with Chuck. And Chuck didn't know that Ellie knew the relationship was fake, either.

"I don't know what's gotten into her. She's just super-truthful right now," Devon said, reaching out to pull Ellie up and off the bed. "Sorry again." He pushed Ellie out of the room, who was saying something about a burglar and a New Kids fannypack and words tasting like peaches.

Now that they were alone, Sarah looked at Chuck. "That's not like Ellie, is it?"

He shook his head. "She doesn't act like that even when she's drunk."

Sarah frowned. "Maybe we should talk to Devon. This might be connected to Mason Whitney. Remember how Ellie said he was 'babbling'?"

Without another word, Chuck jumped up and headed out of the room. Sarah snagged her cardigan as she followed him, pulling it on and buttoning it up.

Devon had put Ellie on the couch in the living room, where she was grinning up at him. "Devon, do you know if anything unusual happened during Ellie's shift today?" Chuck's voice was firm but with an underlying quaver.

"No, bro," Devon said, looking worried. "She didn't mention anything, but ever since we got home tonight she's been like this." He pursed his lips. "Although . . . I saw her talking to a cop at the end of her shift."

"You did?" Sarah asked. "Did she tell you what it was about?"

"She was telling him about the necklace that patient slipped her. When she couldn't find it yesterday she panicked, especially since the patient passed away overnight. So I guess she called it in to the LAPD," Devon said.

Sarah frowned and looked at Ellie. What was going on here? Chuck's sister was clearly unwell, but since Devon didn't seem to know what was causing her symptoms, it was natural that everyone was worried. And Sarah was worried about Ellie . . . but she was also trying to figure out a way to control the damage that Ellie had inflicted. If Devon began questioning her relationship with Chuck-or if Chuck started wondering why his sister thought he was fake dating Sarah-it could cause a lot of problems.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Devon walked over and opened it, revealing Casey, a sugar bowl and a container of milk. "Sorry, Devon," the NSA agent asked in a jovial voice, "you wouldn't happen to have some sugar, would you?"

"Sure, John," Devon said, sounding distracted. He took the bowl and headed to the kitchen as Casey pulled an antenna from the milk container and started sweeping the room with the bug detector.

"What is it, Casey?" Sarah said, her voice low.

"Cross-talk on the bugs," Casey hissed. "There's another bug around that's not ours."

"You look like Mr. Wilson," Ellie said, her words slightly slurred and her face covered in a sheen of sweat. "From Dennis the Menace. Good Ol' Mr. Wilson. Only you're less nice, John."

Casey frowned and brought the bug detector towards Ellie, the detector beeping faster. Sarah leaned down and touched Ellie's neck, finding a small lump covered by a flexible plastic bandage that blended into her skin. She pulled it off, revealing the bug.

And at the same moment, Ellie's eyes rolled back in her head and she fell down onto the couch cushions.

"Devon!" Chuck yelped.

In the flurry of activity that followed Ellie fainting, talking to Casey and making plans to pull the security camera footage at the hospital and wondering what was wrong with Ellie, the one thing that stuck in Sarah's mind was just how scared Chuck was for his sister. The way his hands shook as he helped Devon, how his eyes were full of fear.

Fear that he might lose his sister.

XXX

Sarah leaned back in the hard plastic chair, watching as Chuck paced in front of her along the hallway. He would walk ten paces one way, turn and then walk back another ten paces before starting all over. Throughout the night, he had been running his hands through his hair and the curls had poofed up, standing out from his head like a halo.

After fifteen minutes of watching him, she couldn't take it anymore. "Chuck, sit down."

"I can't," he said, continuing to march in front of her. "If I don't keep moving, I'm going to come right out of my skin. My sister's in a coma and the doctors have no idea what's wrong with her, only that she's got the same symptoms as a man who died within twenty-four hours. I can't lose Ellie, Sarah."

"I know," she said, reaching out and grabbing his wrist as he walked past, stopping him in his tracks. "I'm not going to let that happen, though."

"How, Sarah?" Chuck's face was pale and drawn, but his eyes snapped with anger and frustration. "How are you going to save my sister?"

This wasn't like Chuck. It wasn't like him to be so defiant, so angry. But she knew that Ellie was all the family he had in the world. If nothing else, his reactions underscored just how well his cover personality had overlaid his real one. Because she couldn't see Carmichael freaking out like this.

"By doing my job," Sarah said quietly, refusing to back down from his challenge. "By finding the man who did this to Ellie and making him fix it. No matter what."

She could see the anger drain away, leaving his shoulders slumped. But he sat next to her and rubbed a hand over his face. "Any word from Casey?"

"No, not yet, but-"

Speaking of the devil, Casey appeared at the end of the hallway and walked towards them. "Got a lead," he said, gesturing for them to get up and follow them.

"What is it?" Chuck asked, leaping to his feet. Sarah scrambled up and hurried along with them.

"The cop that talked to Ellie isn't really a cop. LAPD finally realized he wasn't one of theirs. Probably our bad guy. So let's see if Bartowski can figure out who this guy is," Casey said, leading them to a small security room filled with computer monitors.

Chuck sat down next to Casey as the NSA agent typed with two fingers on the keyboard. Sarah stood behind them, fighting the urge to rest a hand on Chuck's shoulder.

Within a moment, Casey had the footage cued up and let it begin playing. They watched as a short, spiky-haired man in a LAPD uniform approached Ellie and began talking to her silently, the surveillance cameras not capturing the sound. The man kept his back to the video camera as he handed Ellie a clipboard and a pen. She scribbled something on it and handed it back with a smile. Then the fake officer pulled out a camera and took her picture, but not before adjusting her hair, his fingers brushing Ellie's neck. The move made Chuck tense.

Finally, as Ellie walked past the man, he turned to face the camera. And Sarah could see Chuck's shoulders tense as the flash hit him.

"Reardon Payne. Former Olympic-level gymnast until he blew out his knee and became a mercenary for hire. Rumored to work for Fulcrum. Uses a lethal dose of pentothal on his victims to compel them to reveal what they know," Chuck said.

"Must be after those nuclear codes," Casey said, turning to look up at Sarah. "Do a set-up? Offer the codes in exchange for the antidote only to double-cross him?"

Sarah nodded. "Yeah, let's keep it simple."

"How are you going to contact him?" Chuck asked, looking back and forth between them.

Casey reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. "The bug he planted on Ellie when he touched her. We let slip we know he's behind this and we want to make a deal."

Chuck looked worried. "Are we sure it's gonna work?"

"This guy went after a civilian when he thought she had the codes," Sarah said. "He'll take the deal in the hopes we're desperate enough to do anything to get an antidote."

"But we are desperate enough to do anything," Chuck said, looking back at the monitors.

Sarah looked at Casey, whose face was blank and emotionless. Because they both knew that the priority was keeping Payne from getting the nuclear codes. Not the life of Chuck's sister.

XXX

Oh, this was bad. Really bad. So fucking bad that there wasn't a word for it. Other than fuck.

Everything had been fine until Payne had shown up at the hospital and drawn Casey and herself into a standoff. Like all mad scientist types, he couldn't leave well enough alone-he had to prove he was the smartest, evillest, maddest scientist of all. So of course, he had brought along some of the pentothal poison as well as the antidote. Payne was gloating, making her want to shoot him just to shut him up. He was taunting them with the vial of poison when Casey apparently lost his patience and decided to make his move.

He threw a punch at Payne and the two men began grappling. Sarah stayed back, watching nervously as Payne's hands clutched the vials of antidote and poison. The longer the fight went on, the more nervous she got about losing the antidote and having to tell Chuck that they wouldn't be able to save Ellie. So, slowly, she edged towards the two men.

Unfortunately, Casey didn't see her. He pushed Payne away, and the short, stocky man collided with Sarah. They both went down on the floor, Sarah hearing breaking glass and feeling a wave of panic. She lifted her head and looked, feeling relieved. Reaching out, she snatched the vial of the antidote from Payne's hand.

She started pushing at Payne as she looked up at Casey, who looked horror-struck. "We have to get this to-"

Stopping mid-word, Sarah swallowed. She felt strange. A bit dizzy, but also . . . also like she wanted to tell Casey his obsession with President Reagan was more than just creepy, but downright unpatriotic.

Looking around wildly, she realized what that breaking glass sound was: the vial of pentothal. The three of them were exposed.

Payne scrambled to his feet, a crazed smile on his face. Casey made a half-hearted swipe at him, but the little man got away, nearly colliding with Chuck.

And so that was where they were. Casey was slumped beside her, turning the wheel of an upside-down wheelchair. Sarah was staring off into space, playing with the buttons on her cardigan and resisting the urge to squirm from how her slippery silk nightgown under her dress made her position on the floor one of constant danger. Because she might just slide right down the wall she was leaning against and sprawl out on the floor.

Sarah gave herself a shake and tried to get herself under control. She knew how to withstand pentothal, she had plenty of experience doing so, and she was not going to slip up and reveal anything she shouldn't.

Focus, Sarah, she told herself mentally. With the two agents incapacitated, it was up to their asset to save the day. Chuck was trying to use his hacker skills to find out where Payne was hiding, but that didn't mean she and Casey were totally sidelined. It wasn't like Chuck was going to be able to fight Payne and get the antidote.

At least Ellie was safe. They had only one dose of the antidote, and both she and Casey had ordered Chuck to give it to Ellie. She was the civilian, after all. And if this didn't work out, she could keep Chuck somewhat safe until new handlers could be assigned.

God, it had only been four months and this wasn't even the first time she thought Chuck was going to end up with new handlers. What was it about this assignment that kept putting her on the edge of death?

Turning to Casey, she tugged on his shirt sleeve. "C'mon. We should do something. Check on Chuck, make sure he's making progress."

"Ain't that your department?" Casey asked with a leer. "Handling your asset?"

"What's wrong, angry that I'm not handling you?" Sarah said, the words escaping her lips before she could stop herself. She slapped her hand over her mouth. Damn truth serum!

Casey snorted. "Told you before and I'm tellin' you again-I'm not interested. It's melodramatic enough around here already, with the way Bartowski moons over you."

Sarah rolled her eyes and pushed herself up. "We need to find Payne. Because I'm not interested in knowing all your deep, dark secrets."

"That goes double for me, Walker," Casey said, shoving away the wheelchair and standing up. But before they could start looking for Chuck, the man in question skidded around the corner of the hallway and ran up to them.

"I found him!" Chuck panted, looking excited. "He's got a warehouse off Figueroa Street! Let's go!"

"You sure?" Casey asked. "'Cause it ain't like you're Super-Special Agent Carmich-"

And now Sarah's hand was over Casey's mouth. She looked at Chuck. "Do you think he'd be there?"

Chuck nodded quickly. "He doesn't have any other known address in Los Angeles. He rented the warehouse for a month and the lease ends in a few days."

"That's good enough for me," Sarah said, removing her hand from Casey's mouth and eyeing him. Fortunately, he stayed silent and didn't continue with his big reveal. Jesus, this was something to remember: the NSA apparently didn't do the pentothal resistance training that the CIA did. She'd have to rub it in the next time Casey got too smug about how the NSA was better than the CIA.

The three of them hurried to Casey's Crown Victoria. Chuck climbed into the front seat next to Casey, in order to direct him to the warehouse, and Sarah took the backseat. As they drove, she found herself looking a lot at Chuck.

It had to be the pentothal, but . . . but Chuck was kinda cute. In an adorable, boy-next-door kind of way, with those curls that seemed to beg for fingers running through them. And when he got excited about something, his whole face lit up, like someone turned on a lamp inside him. She'd worked around spies for so long, with people who kept their emotions back; seeing such unguarded expressions still threw her a little. But she was getting better at handling it.

Thank God she knew how to hold her tongue. Because there was no way Chuck could know what was going on inside her head. Casey was right-Chuck was clearly nursing some kind of crush on her. And while it was flattering and made her think things in the dark of the night that were best left there, there was just no way that anything could happen.

She was hoping that ignoring his feelings would give him the hint to not press her. To not try some kind of romantic gesture. Because . . . because she really didn't want to have to slap him down with a rejection. Not when he already felt a lack of self-confidence thanks to that idiotic imaginary ex-fiancée. Sarah wished that element hadn't been included in Chuck's backstory-and she wasn't sure why it was there, either. Had that happened to Carmichael? Was that why he used it for the Chuck personality?

There were so many questions in her head. She'd never had truth serum make her so curious. Must be something about Payne's special version of it. Her lips twisting, Sarah checked her gun. She was pretty much out of patience for the way she was feeling. When they got to the warehouse, she wasn't going to waste any time to get the antidote.

XXX

Was the former gymnast/current bad guy seriously doing a shitload of flips all over this warehouse?

Any fucks she had to give were seriously misplaced at the moment. So Sarah aimed and shot out one of Payne's knees.

The little man dropped to the ground, clutching at his knee and wailing. Sarah shoved her gun into the back of her jeans and turned towards the cabinet that contained vials of antidote, only for Chuck to beat her. He grabbed two and handed one to Casey. But for some reason, he held on to the second one, looking at her for a long moment.

"Chuck?" she said, raising her eyebrows. "Let me have it."

"I will-I will, I promise," he said, his words tumbling over themselves. "But first-and please don't shoot me-but this is my only chance to ask this and get an honest answer from you."

Oh, shit. Shit shit shit shit shit fuck shit! She should have known something like this would happen. The stupid adorable bastard was gonna ask her about this fake relationship of theirs and she was gonna have to lie to him and hurt him and fuck, this hurt. And God damn it, she was supposed to be the professional one here, the one who didn't give in to her emotions but something about him, no matter what his name or personality was, made her into some woman she didn't even recognize.

He gazed at her, his eyes big and brown and soulful. Time seemed to stretch out before he quickly licked his lips and said, "Sarah, I know this is all fake, but . . . but I think you feel something for me, something like what I feel for you, so I just wanna know-someday, maybe, you and me . . . could we maybe work?"

Even though she wanted to look away, she couldn't. Because after this moment, things would be different. She was a spy-it was in her job description to lie. But so far, she hadn't lied to Chuck. And she wished he hadn't pushed her, wished he could have just figured out on his own why they couldn't be together. He was a smart guy. Why hadn't he figured it out?

Finally, finally, she managed to duck her head. "I'm sorry, Chuck," she said. She didn't want to look at him, didn't want to see his reaction, but that seemed like the coward's way out. And Sarah Walker might be a lot of things right now-confused, teetering on the edge, and a little bit broken-but she wasn't a coward. So she lifted her eyes to his and said softly, "No."

His Adam's apple bobbed as Chuck swallowed. He was trying to hide how he was feeling, but he was crap at it. So she knew he was hurting. "T-thank you," he said quietly. "Thank you for being honest."

If only he knew.

He held out the antidote to her, by the top of the vial. She was just as careful to take it from the bottom, so that their fingers wouldn't touch. She bolted down the green liquid, knowing that there was no way he could know that with her training, she could mostly withstand the effects of pentothal. Mostly.

It had taken everything in her to say no to him. A myriad of reminders about how falling for Chuck was futile, how in less than a year he would be gone and Charles Carmichael would be back, and while he was an amazing spy and really good in bed, Carmichael wasn't Chuck.

This was such a clusterfuck. She needed to get away. Away from Chuck, away from herself. But she wouldn't be so lucky, Sarah suspected. There was getting Payne handed over to the authorities, reports to write, and a wealth of other crap to take care of before she could be alone.

But she could take a moment. So she walked away from Chuck and joined Casey at the doorway.

"You good, Walker?" he asked, looking at her skeptically.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

"You say anything you shouldn't have?"

Casey's voice was a mix of doubtful and curious. Sarah looked up at him and shrugged. "I've been trained to withstand pentothal."

There was no reason to tell Casey that she had nearly slipped up anyway.

End, Chapter 6


	7. Chapter 7

Sarah gripped the strap of her purse as she walked towards the Buy More. It had been three weeks since the Reardon Payne mission, and things were not good. Things were really not good. And it was all her fault.

Damn stupid truth serum and lies and covers and all of it.

Being a spy all came down to being observant. Able to watch and listen and go beyond the words and actions, to what was underneath. To what people tried to hide. It was about knowing your adversary or partner so well that you could predict their moves.

It would seem, though, that she hadn't been paying that much attention to Chuck. Because she had no idea of just how deeply his feelings for her went.

Not that he'd been that circumspect, now that she thought about it. She had known he seemed to feel something about her. The way he would look at her . . . and the way on their fake dates, he never failed to ask her questions. He certainly did the heavy lifting when it came to making conversation: talking about what had happened at the Buy More that day, sharing a funny story about Ellie or Devon or Morgan, things like that. But more than that, he kept attempting to get her to talk about herself. It went beyond the info you'd need for a cover relationship. It was almost like he wanted to get to know her.

Which was . . . it was sweet, she guessed. A mark of being a good boyfriend, it would appear. But he wasn't really her boyfriend. And although perhaps she hadn't been firm enough in enforcing the rules, in keeping their interactions strictly about the asset-handler relationship, shouldn't it have been obvious to him? That there was no way they could be more?

Unfortunately, her blunt refusal of any possible future relationship between them-her denial that they could be a real couple-had made Chuck reevaluate his feelings for her. That was the only explanation she had for how he had pulled back. He came into Castle every morning to review the overnight intelligence, but that was the limit of his involvement now. As soon as he finished reading over the reports, he would leave for the Buy More or other destinations-mostly a deli on the other side of the strip mall.

He didn't ask if she had plans for lunch, he didn't offer to help with missions, and the two cover dates they had since the Payne mission had consisted of them eating dinners together in Castle and Chuck playing on his portable video game system. Which Sarah had discovered was called a Nintendo DS, because she had been so desperate for something to break the silence that she had figured out what it was called so she could ask Chuck about it.

Ellie had called her this morning, saying that Devon was confused. "And so am I, Sarah, I have to say. You seem to barely see Chuck-how can you protect him if you're never around?"

"Chuck is well-protected, Ellie," Sarah said, trying to reassure her. "Casey's just across the courtyard, there's plenty of surveillance-"

"That might be true," Ellie interrupted. Her voice was quieter when she asked, "What's going on? What happened?"

Should she reveal the full truth to Chuck's sister? As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Sarah discarded it. That was completely unnecessary.

"It's hard to say," Sarah said, trying to find something to say. "Maybe it's just like how it goes sometimes in relationships. You find out that once you get to know someone, you don't have as much in common as you thought."

Displaying the tenacity of a bulldog, Ellie wouldn't let the subject drop. "Have you talked to Chuck about this?"

"No . . ."

"Then that's what you need to do," Ellie said, her voice determined. "Because he's not talking about you like he was in the beginning, and it's not like Chuck to suffer in silence. I just mean, he's the type to get things out in the open. So if he's not talking to me or to you, that's not normal. So just ask him what's going on."

Was it really that simple? Sarah didn't know. She had never really been in a relationship, since it was becoming more and more clear what she had shared with Bryce didn't really qualify. So she had agreed with Ellie and resolved to drive Chuck home that afternoon, in order to give them some time to talk.

But as she approached the Buy More, her steps grew slower and slower. She wished she could put this off a bit longer, give herself more time to prepare. Because the more she thought about the last four months, the more she was realizing just how much she hadn't noticed. And now that lack of observation, violating a basic tenant of being a spy, was coming back to bite her in the ass.

When she stepped into the electronics store, she didn't have to look around. Her eyes immediately found Chuck. He was in profile to her, standing in front of the Nerd Herd desk. There was a big smile on his face as he talked with the short brunette, the one who was giving him an even bigger smile and handing him a paper bag and-holy shit, she knew that woman. It was that customer from a few weeks ago, the one with the phone, the one who had hugged Chuck. Lou! Her name was Lou.

While she was standing there and watching, Chuck laughed like she hadn't heard him laugh for weeks. Using all her spy training, Sarah edged closer-close enough to eavesdrop.

"You should feel very special. Not just anyone gets their namesake sandwich delivered to them."

Lou's eyes were squinty as she smiled up at Chuck. It made Sarah distrust her, wondering if she was some enemy agent, someone sent by Fulcrum. Although she would have thought Fulcrum would send someone taller.

"Well, then, I will treasure this sandwich. Put it on my mantelpiece, under one of those big glass domes, and just . . . watch it decompose." Chuck gave Lou one of his cute lopsided smiles. "Okay, that didn't work out like I thought it would."

Sarah had heard enough. She sidled up behind Chuck. "Hi, Chuck. Who's your friend?"

Chuck practically jumped out of his shoes as he turned around. "Sarah!"

"Who's this?" Lou asked, looking confused and annoyed.

"I'm Sarah," she said, holding her hand out. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she was Chuck's girlfriend, but she was curious about what Chuck was going to say.

Eyeing her suspiciously, the shorter woman shook Sarah's hand and said, "I'm Lou." Then she turned to look at Chuck, putting her hands on her hips.

His cute smile now more of a rictus, Chuck looked back and forth between the two of them, clutching the paper bag in his hands. "How about this? All three of us . . . here . . . at the same time."

"What the hell, Chuck? Who is this girl?" Lou eyed Sarah again. "All that yogurt slinging freeze off your boobs?"

She didn't have to fake any outrage or anger. On instinct, she stepped closer to Lou, using her height to intimidate. "Did your legs get caught in your deli slicer?"

"Oh, it is on!" Lou said, beginning to drop her purse on the floor, only for Chuck to step in between them.

"Enough!" he said, looking back and forth between them. He looked a bit frantic, like he had never been in this situation before. Which he probably hadn't, Sarah knew. And this was really the wrong way to begin the talk she needed to have with Chuck.

Feeling like an idiot, Sarah stepped back. "I'm sorry, Lou," she said contritely. "I need to talk with Chuck and it's kind of an emergency, but I shouldn't have said what I said."

The belligerent brunette didn't look that mollified by Sarah's apology, but with Chuck there she had to put on a good face. And Sarah knew that just as much as Lou did. So Lou nodded and adjusted her purse. "I guess I'll see you later, Chuck?"

"Yes, yes, you will," he said, giving Lou a tight smile. He waited until she had walked out of earshot before turning on Sarah. "Why would you do that?" he asked, sounding totally perplexed.

"Why didn't you tell her that you have a girlfriend?" Sarah replied, glaring at him.

"Because I don't, not really!"

How could five simple words hurt so much? She had to bite her lower lip to give herself something to focus on. The pain kept her from talking, kept her from thinking about anything except the sensation of her teeth digging into her lip. After a moment, she took a deep breath. "We need to talk."

"Fine," Chuck said. "My shift is done. We can talk now." He reached over the desk, grabbing his keys and turning towards the exit, the paper bag with Lou's sandwich clutched in his hand.

Sarah hurried to catch up with him, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. Because the hell if she knew what was going through Chuck Bartowski's head right now.

For some reason, instead of taking him to Castle, Sarah led him to her car and slid behind the wheel. Perhaps she wanted to be on her own turf instead of neutral ground, or perhaps she just didn't want to have this conversation in the heavily-monitored environs of Castle.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Chuck did his best to face her in the cramped confines of the Porsche. "So what's so urgent, Sarah?"

Right down to business. Good. She could keep this professional. Rise above all these strange feelings and do her job.

"I got a phone call from Ellie this morning," Sarah began. "Both she and Devon were a bit concerned about our-our relationship."

There shouldn't be enough room for him to squirm, but he did. "Yeah . . . Ellie was trying to talk to me about that and I kinda stonewalled her."

"If your family starts to question our cover, then they might start to question other things," Sarah said, trying to be gentle yet firm. "For their safety, we have to maintain appearances."

Chuck turned his head to look out through the windshield. "And what appearance is that?"

Wasn't it obvious? "Of . . . of a couple who is interested in each other. Who want to spend time together."

"Which isn't true."

He certainly wasn't making this easy for her, Sarah mused, feeling uncomfortable as an awkward silence filled the car. No, it wasn't true in the traditional sense. They weren't a normal couple. But for now, they had to pretend they were. He knew that. This kind of petulance wasn't what she had expected from Chuck.

"What if I wanted to date someone else? For real?"

What? What the fuck? She whipped her head to look at him, but he was trying to avoid her eyes. It took her a moment of internal struggle to move past her emotional response and be logical.

"It . . . it would be a problem in terms of our cover, of course. And anyone you wanted to date would have to be extensively vetted to ensure she wasn't a security risk."

"What risk is there in someone who'd want to date me?" Chuck said, sounding frustrated.

God, he was being deliberately stupid. This wasn't like Chuck and that bothered her. First because he was acting out of character, and secondly because she felt like she knew him well enough to know what was out of character for him, although maybe she didn't really know him at all. And now that lurking headache was back, cued by all these confusing thoughts about personality and identity and just who the hell the man sitting next to her was.

"If Fulcrum discovered who you are-what you have in your head-they would try anything to get you under their control, Chuck," Sarah said, knowing she was speaking too loudly but not really caring. "Is that what you want? To be forced to work against your government, to become one of the bad guys?"

"Considering my government apparently doesn't want me to be happy, I'm having a hard time right now caring all that much," Chuck retorted, sounding sulky.

"You're acting like a child," Sarah snapped.

Chuck's face had gone a pale red as he turned to look at her, pinning her under his gaze. "Maybe I am, but I can't do this anymore."

A cold chill went over Sarah. What did he mean, he couldn't do this anymore?

"We keep trying to fool people into thinking we're some kind of couple, a real couple, and I can't do that. I'm already lying about enough in my life-I don't want to lie about this, too. I want . . . I want to have a real relationship with someone. I want to be happy-I think I deserve that. And this, you and me . . ." His voice trailed off and he dropped his eyes. "We keep trying to fool everyone, and the problem is, I'm getting fooled, too."

There was something about how his voice became soft and shy on that last sentence, his shoulders slumped and an overall air of defeat falling over him, that made Sarah feel like she had been punched in the gut. Because . . . because she felt like it was her fault. Because deep down, she knew she had given him hope. He was just so damn friendly and open and warm-hearted, so different from anyone else she had met. For some unknown, unquantifiable reason, she responded to him like she had to no one else. And that gave him the impression they might be together for real someday.

Could they? She didn't know the answer to that question. Had purposefully not thought about that question. It was too dangerous. She hadn't put it in those terms; it was more of a sense, a feeling. If she let herself really consider a relationship with Chuck Bartowski . . . no. No, that was a bad idea. And she definitely shouldn't be thinking about it now.

Because there was still the problem at hand: what Chuck wanted. And she hated having to deny him, but she had to. There was no way he could date Lou or anyone else. As his handler, she should be firm and no-nonsense. No letting him down easy. But she just didn't have it in her to be mean to him. It was like kicking a puppy. Although finding a way to put this in words was going to be hard.

"I . . . I'm sorry, Chuck," she said. "But we can't break up. Not like any other couple would. I guess you like Lou a lot, and I wish things could be different, but-but it's not safe for her, for your friends, or for you."

Chuck searched her face, a tightness appearing in his jaw. "But I could still be friends with her?"

"Well, yes, of course . . ." Sarah said, not really sure where Chuck was going with this.

"Then I want to go talk to my friend Lou," Chuck said, gathering his keys and the paper bag that Lou had given him. "To apologize and explain how I can only be friends with her, if she's willing."

"What are you going to tell her about me?" She wasn't quite sure why she asked-why the answer seemed to matter-but she was curious. Because what woman would want to be friends with a man she was interested in, a man who had a girlfriend?

"That you're my friend, too," Chuck said, looking at her. "It's kind of true. And I'd rather give her a little bit of the truth than a whole lie."

Without another word, Chuck climbed out of the car, closing the door softly behind him. He walked around the car and headed towards the deli, his steps even and his shoulders raised. Like he was excited to see Lou, even if he was about to have a difficult conversation with her.

Sarah frowned as she watched him, wondering what was happening. Wondering what this meant for their working relationship, for their cover dating. Because she had the sinking feeling that she had just made things worse.

XXX

Her feet were heavy as she trudged-"trudged" was the only word to describe her movements-towards her apartment. It had been a very long week and right now, she wished she had a normal, nine-to-five job. Because then, the fact it was Friday night would mean she had a two-day break before she had to go back to work. Before she had to face what was causing her low mood. But since she worked in the glamorous world of international espionage, she was actually just coming back long enough for darkness to fall before going out on a mission.

Getting the door open, Sarah dropped her bag and kicked off her shoes before she was even really in the room. As the door slammed shut behind her, she moved across the carpet and flopped face-down on her bed.

If Chuck had been a reluctant asset the previous three weeks, this week he had been nearly non-existent. On Monday and Wednesday, he had actually driven himself to work instead of waiting for Casey; yesterday he had gotten a ride with Lou, who clearly was more than willing to be Chuck's friend. Since he had visited Castle only on Tuesday, that meant the reports started piling up. Yesterday afternoon, Casey had finally threatened him with several creative tortures to get him to come to Castle during his lunch breaks to catch up.

And when Chuck was around . . . he wouldn't even tell them what he was flashing on. He'd just write notes on Post-its and stick them on the appropriate places in the report. There was no more jokes, no more suggestions, nothing. It was like he was a mute.

He was behaving like a typical asset: stubborn and unwilling, too upset about not getting what he wanted to do what he was supposed to do. It was a side of Chuck that she didn't like seeing. That she didn't understand. Because why had he changed? It couldn't be as simple as his interest in her made him cooperative, was it? If it was, that would mean she had totally misjudged Chuck from the start, in a way that made her feel more green than a trainee.

Rolling over, Sarah stared up at the ceiling. Perhaps it was just a matter of the excitement wearing off. Maybe it was getting too difficult for him to juggle his duties as the Intersect with his personal life. And yes, she supposed that finding out that she seemingly didn't have any interest in him might have played a part in his newfound antipathy. It was probably all of this and more. But she didn't like it.

Sarah had never been one for deep thought. For really examining her feelings and motives and instincts. She had usually gone with her gut and let the chips fall where they may, confident that she'd be able to find her way to safety. And yeah, she had been criticized for taking that approach-by a lot of people, not just Charles Carmichael. And it seemed like lately that approach was blowing up in her face a lot. So . . . so perhaps it was time to try something else. And really try this time-not like before, when she had half-assed it until she gave up on thinking things through.

But how should she do this? She wracked her brain, trying to remember what she had seen other agents do. Not many field agents were planners. Most of them fell in a range between herself and Carina, it seemed to Sarah. But she knew she had worked with a few operatives who were more analytical, who made sure they accounted for contingencies.

Suddenly she remembered an older agent that she had worked with right after she got out of training-or was it while she was still in school and doing her training during summer and school breaks?-who talked about making lists. Pros and cons, possible outcomes no matter how ridiculous, even simple supply needs: he would make a list whenever he was confused.

Could that work for her?

She didn't know, but at least it might help her stop feeling like her head was going to explode. Because she was tired of keeping all of this inside herself. Maybe by getting her thoughts down on paper for a little while, she could see things more clearly and be able to move on. It wasn't like she had to keep anything she wrote. There were lots of ways to destroy paper.

Scrambling off the bed, Sarah started hunting for a pen and some paper. Finally finding a notepad in the desk that came with the room, she sat down on her bed and gazed down at the blank sheets of paper. Then, in handwriting that looked small and awkward, she wrote at the top of the page, "Why is Chuck acting like a jerk?"

Okay, nothing like getting right to it, Sarah thought with a tight smile. Then she started to write down reasons, not bothering to really think anything through. Just using the page as a way to say anything and everything. After a few moments, she slowed down and let herself read over what she had written, all the anger and jealousy and worry.

Did this help any? Sarah blew out a breath. At least she felt a bit less emotional. And that was definitely a good thing in her book. But . . . but this was all about how she felt about Chuck's behavior. Perhaps-perhaps she needed to look at things from Chuck's point of view.

Sarah tore off the page she had been writing on and started making notes. It was strange, putting herself in his shoes like this. Because sure, she tried to be kind to people, tried fairly treating anyone she encountered. But she had never really attempted to empathize this much with someone she had to work with.

Slowly, she began listing the various moments when she thought Chuck could have thought there could be something between them. Examining her behavior through Chuck's eyes and seeing that . . . holy fuck, she really had led him on. She bit her lip as the list kept growing of all the ways she had given Chuck more leeway than a normal asset, all the ways she had tried to reassure and encourage and comfort him. After their "first date" and on their other cover dates. Explaining why he couldn't do something, instead of just telling him not to help them. Letting him be a part of field work, for God's sake.

Seeing it all in black and white, it all pointed to the existence of definite signals. And this was just the examples she could point to-who knew what Chuck had seen in her that she hadn't realized she was showing? No wonder he got so upset when she shot him down. It . . . it must have crushed him.

And that thought made her suck in a breath. Chuck, who had been hurt before according to his backstory-like the fiancée who broke his heart after his car accident-and even though the backstory wasn't real, Chuck believed that it was. Now he was stuck in a dead-end job and living with his sister and felt like a loser . . . and she had rejected him after giving him clear signs that she liked him.

God, she was the fucking worst. As an agent and as a human being. She didn't know why her head was so messed up, but it really had to stop. She had to figure out a way to treat Chuck that didn't lead him on but also didn't alienate him so he wouldn't cooperate. Which probably meant talking.

Glancing at the clock, Sarah let out a sigh of relief. It was nearly time for her to meet Casey and she still had to get ready. That meant she could put off finding a solution for a little longer. Because if this was uncomfortable, actually fixing things would be a million times worse.

As she took a quick shower and dressed in dark clothes, Sarah tried to clear her mind and prepare for the mission. They were following up on something that Casey had identified in the intelligence reports. With Chuck being so behind on vetting the raw intelligence, Sarah and Casey had been pressed into analysis work. Since it had been a month since their last mission, both of them were edgy and ready to get into the field. But it was strange how funny it felt to go into a mission without any information from the Intersect to back them up. It made her feel a bit blind.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to push away the strangeness. This was how normal missions went: intelligence was analyzed and a field operation developed to gather more data or apprehend suspects. Getting used to the Intersect could become a dangerous crutch when it would only be part of this assignment only.

They would be fine. It was just a simple mission-break into an office of a suspected Fulcrum shell company, confirm that they had links to Fulcrum, then get out. They'd be done by midnight, hopefully, letting Sarah be home early enough to get a decent night's sleep.

Maybe that was all she needed to get her head on straight: some sleep.

XXX

Gripping her gun, Sarah edged her eyes over the desk she was using for cover. Just as her head cleared the desktop, several gunshots came at her, thudding into the piece of solid wood furniture.

She ducked back down and cursed softly. "Fuck! Casey?"

"I got nothing," he said, attempting to fire only to pull himself back from the edge of the doorway he was crouching by.

"What the fuck?" she muttered, only half-rhetorically, as she tried to figure out what they were going to do. They hadn't realized they were walking into what appeared to be some kind of Fulcrum training center. It might have looked like a driver's education school on the surface, but it seemed like Fulcrum had done a really good job of covering up the true nature of the place. So now she and Casey were pinned down with thirty Fulcrum agents shooting at them.

The odds sucked. Sarah slid the magazine from her gun and checked it. "How many do you have left?" she called out to Casey as she jammed the mag back into her gun.

"Half a mag," he yelled back after a moment.

"I've got a full one," she said, tightening her grip. "I'll draw their fire and go down that staircase back there," she said, jerking her thumb over her right shoulder towards the door in the northwest corner of the building. "Meet you at the van."

Casey's jaw tightened, visible even from this distance, but he nodded. "Count of three?"

Sarah nodded and watched as he counted to three on his fingers. At the sign, she let off two quick shots and began half-crawling, half-crab walking towards the stairway door, firing as she went. Meanwhile, Casey let off a barrage of shots and then vanished down the hallway.

Good, he was clear. Sarah focused on getting out of this alive, even though she actually had only six bullets left-not the full mag she had told Casey.

There was only ten feet to go, but it was ten feet that was totally out in the open. She made herself as small as possible behind a potted plant, calculating her options. Run as fast as she could? Do something more strategic like let someone get close enough and then take them hostage?

A click behind her and the press of a barrel against the back of her head answered that question. Sarah raised her hands, holding them out to her sides as she mentally cursed.

"Stand up," a deep male voice said.

"Gonna shoot me when I'm on my feet? How polite," Sarah said, slowly rising to her full height.

The man with the gun on her snorted. "Just making sure I don't miss."

"You could miss at this range?" Sarah let out a soft whistle. "Wow, I didn't realize a requirement to be a Fulcrum agent was not being able to hit the broadside of a barn."

Stars exploded in her vision as the man thumped the back of her head with something-probably the butt of his gun. She winced, trying not to let on how much that hurt.

"Shut up," the man said. There was a rustling and then he spoke. "We've got the woman who broke in-we'll bring her downstairs."

It must be a radio. Sarah looked around with her eyes only, trying to find a way out of this. The asshole hadn't thought to disarm her, which would be his first mistake. His second was letting her have time to make a plan.

She had three bullets left. There was a large window to her right. And they were only on the second floor.

As soon as the idea was in her mind, Sarah acted. Wheeling quickly, she grabbed the gunman's arm, holding his gun away from her as she fired her own weapon at the window. The glass splintered and finally shattered on her last shot.

Giving thanks for her long legs, Sarah pushed at the gunmen and then lashed out with a side kick, knocking him back. And then she dove for the now-open window.

A bullet caught her in the lower leg just as she went through the window. She ignored the pain as she scanned the ground below her, the ground that was quickly approaching, and aimed for a group of bushes to break her fall. But she misjudged and there was more pops and more pain and then there was darkness.

XXX

The sound of voices broke into the warm darkness that Sarah was in. The place where everything was okay and she could just be. But the voices were full of emotion, one low and deep and the other higher-pitched, faster. Scared and worried. Or maybe she was just kidding herself that there was anyone who cared about her enough to worry.

She opened her eyes tentatively and then screwed them up, unable to handle the brightness. It felt like knives were stabbing into her eyeballs. That wasn't good. Just what was wrong with her?

Shifting a little, Sarah tried to assess what hurt, only to give up within a moment when she realized it was everything. Her whole body ached. She felt weak and spent, like lifting her head would be more than she could achieve. And that made her suck in a breath even as her ribs ached, because she was Sarah Walker and her body was one of the few things she could depend on. But she couldn't depend on it now and that-that scared her.

The rustling bedsheets must have given her away, because suddenly the voices went quiet, and then there was a soft clicking as someone approached her bed. Carefully, Sarah eased her eyes open, trying to see who it was.

There was still too much light for her eyes, but she could see enough to be relieved at the sight of Ellie.

"Hi, Sarah," Chuck's sister said, her voice soft and gentle. "It's good to see you awake."

"Hi," she croaked, trying to sound unaffected by her condition.

Ellie lifted a cup up, maneuvering the straw between Sarah's lips. The lukewarm water was so incredibly soothing that Sarah could have cried. Not that she ever cried. She took a few sips and then let her head fall back against the pillows. "What's wrong with me?" she asked, her voice sounding less raspy.

"Shot in your leg and grazed a few other places," Casey said, appearing beside Ellie. "And then there was that swan dive of yours."

Sarah could feel her forehead wrinkle as she tried to remember. Her memories were a bit of a blur: she could remember being in her apartment before the mission, thinking about Chuck, and then moving into the building with Casey, but then . . .

"Go easy on her, John-she's got a concussion, too, not to mention bruises and some internal bleeding." Ellie turned to Sarah and patted her shoulder. "You're going to be fine-you're healthy and strong and you'll recover within a few weeks."

A few weeks? It was all she could not to groan. More rehab. Yay. Wasn't that just her fucking luck?

"Just glad she didn't crack her head open," Casey said, his voice gruff. "It's hell breakin' in new agents, especially CIA."

Concentrating, Sarah began to recall just what had happened. "They got behind me. Were gonna take me somewhere. So I shot out a window and . . . and jumped through it."

Ellie's eyes went wide. "You . . . jumped?"

She shrugged, even as her back spasmed. "I did what I had to do."

"Well, you should have a nice, easy recovery," Ellie said, patting Sarah's shoulder again. "Probably be a few weeks that you'll need to be off your feet, but you shouldn't have any lingering issues with these injuries."

"I know," Sarah said with a sigh. More rehab. Awesome.

"Since you're awake, there's someone to see you, by the way," Ellie said, a smile on her face.

Her forehead wrinkled as Sarah tried to figure out who Ellie was talking about. Casey grunted softly as Ellie went to the door of the room and stepped just outside it for a moment. And then there was Chuck, hurrying into the room after Ellie, a nervous smile on his face and his hands full of flowers.

And not just any flowers . . . gardenias. Gardenias, which she had told Chuck a few weeks ago that she had discovered she had really liked.

It wasn't that she was surprised he remembered. What did surprise her was that he brought her flowers in the first place. Because he was mad at her. Because she wouldn't let him break up with her so he could date Lou, because she told him they could never be a real couple, because . . .

Blinking, Sarah did her best to push herself up into more of a sitting position. "Chuck?" she said, hating how thin her voice sounded.

Chuck brightened immediately. "Hey," he said softly, coming to a stop by her bed. "How are you feeling?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he looked sheepish. Like he realized just how stupid a question that was. "Here," he said, holding the flowers out to her. "Something to brighten up the room. More than you."

Now she was really speechless.

"Chuck was very insistent about coming to see you, as soon as he heard about you being here at the hospital," Ellie said, resting a hand on Chuck's shoulder.

Oh. Of course. He was protecting their cover. Because she hadn't let him break up with her, he thought they had to look like boyfriend and girlfriend for Ellie. That's why he was here with flowers and saying nice things to her.

So she better do her job, even though in truth no one in this room thought they were really dating. Plastering a small smile on her face, she took the flowers and sniffed them, enjoying their heady scent even in the midst of all this crazy. "Thank you," she said softly.

"I thought about getting you chocolates, too, but I wasn't sure if you'd like that."

"All women like chocolate, Chuck," Ellie said with a laugh.

"Yeah, but, you know . . ." Chuck said, shifting from one foot to another.

"Not this argument again," Ellie said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. She kissed Chuck's cheek. "I've got rounds. Sarah, I'll come by and check on you later. Chuck, John, only five more minutes, okay? It's important for Sarah to rest."

"I'm gonna go get the Vic warmed up," Casey said. "Bar-Chuck, meet me in the lobby in five and I'll give you a lift home."

And just like that, she was alone with Chuck. If she wasn't so tired, she'd wonder if it had all been planned. She kept getting the sense that Ellie thought that Chuck and Sarah could be an actual couple.

"Are you okay? Really?"

Chuck's worried question brought her out of her thoughts. She focused on his face and gave him a small smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. I'll be as good as new in a couple of weeks."

"That-that's really good to hear," he said, smiling at her. It wasn't quite up to his normal beaming smile standards, but he definitely looked relieved. Happy, even. Happy that she wasn't hurt more seriously.

She didn't really want to think about what that might mean, so she said the first thing her mind latched upon. "What did Ellie mean, 'not this argument again'?"

"Oh, that," Chuck said sheepishly. "Ellie says that all women like chocolate, it's just a matter of whether they'll let themselves have it. And I always say that there's got to be women that don't like chocolate. So that's why I didn't bring you any candy, since I don't know what your favorite type is."

Jesus Christ, how was he even real? She felt herself smiling a little. "That's very thoughtful of you."

"I just-I didn't want to give you something you wouldn't like," Chuck said, his shoulders hunched over a little and his eyes anywhere but on her. "Not . . . not with how we left things."

"Yeah," she said softly, setting the flowers down on the tray attached to her bed.

"We don't have to talk about that now," he said quickly. "Not when you're so tired. I'm just assuming you're tired, what with the bullet grazes and everything. But later-later, can we talk?"

What little strength had carried her this far was starting to desert her quickly. Sarah nodded. "Yeah. I wanna talk."

"Then we'll talk in a few days. Maybe once you're out of the hospital and back home?"

Her eyes were drooping, but she did her best to keep them open. "Yeah," she said again.

Suddenly, his warm hand was resting lightly on her shoulder. "I should go." There was a pause and she tried to crane her head to look up at him, but her body thought she should pass out instead. She thought she heard him saying something else, but she was already asleep by the time he left her room.

XXX

Sarah had always been a crappy patient. Something about hospital rooms just made her itch. Made her turn into some impatient, mean-spirited person. So she was really, really grateful when she got discharged after three days. Even if it meant she would have to be ready to talk to Chuck.

That was probably the reason why he made sure he was the one to pick her up and take her back to her apartment, Sarah thought as she leaned back against the passenger seat of the Nerd Herder. The little Toyota that Chuck drove for work was chugging along towards her apartment building, Chuck silent in the seat next to her.

Glancing at him, she took in his tight shoulders and how his hands gripped the steering wheel. Was he as nervous about this conversation as she was? Because she really didn't know where to start. Mostly because she didn't know how she felt.

It was vital that Chuck be more active in Operation Bartowski. Clearly, he wasn't another asset. The mission that lead to her injuries had proven that the Intersect was clearly a useful tool, one that could make a real difference. It seemed that Chuck could use the Intersect more effectively than the previous agent could, or he was better at analysing the intelligence he was fed and putting it to use. For whatever reason, the Intersect worked in his head. So they needed him to work with them.

But how to get that conversation started? How to deal with the gap that had opened up between them when he had asked if they could have a future someday? A gap that she had just made worse?

Taking a deep breath, Sarah winced as her ribs protested.

"Are you okay?" Chuck said, sounding just this side of frantic.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Sarah quickly reassured him. "Just forgot that I can't breathe deeply right now."

Chuck shook his head. "I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?" she asked, shifting a little in her seat to gain some relief.

"Face getting hurt like you do," Chuck said, his eyes flicking over towards her before returning to the road. "And then recover and deal with all the pain."

"It's part of the job," Sarah said slowly, feeling a spark of inspiration. "I've been trained to handle it, because it's better if I get hurt than somebody else."

"Why?"

His simple, direct question made her mouth fall open. Because honestly, that was something she had been struggling with for months-well before she took on this assignment. Why was she doing this? Why was she a spy? Was it because she thought she couldn't do anything else-or wouldn't be allowed to do anything else, thanks to Graham's knowledge of her criminal past? Was it the excitement, the danger? The chance to live her life on her terms, for good or for ill? Or was it, deep down, the fact that she did want to help people, she did want to make a difference and save lives and serve her country in a way she was uniquely suited for?

Her mind was whirling so much, she didn't even realize that Chuck had just let her sit and think the rest of the way to her apartment. When he pulled into the underground parking facility, the transition from bright sunshine to dim shadows shocked her out of her thoughts and she looked around in confusion.

"Okay there?" he asked, looking at her quickly as he pulled into a parking spot. "You . . . you kinda seemed lost in thought. At least, I hope so. There were other options."

She licked her lips. "Other options?"

"For why you weren't talking to me. Like you were sick and tired of talking to me, or I went too far in asking you why, or . . ." He let his voice trail off as he hesitantly glanced at her.

"No-no, it was just lost in thought," Sarah said. "Trying to figure things out."

He nodded. "Do you . . . do you need help getting up to your apartment?"

Something about the potential epiphany lurking in the back of her mind made her feel equal parts determined and skittish. Ready to dive into things she had put off, if only to avoid thinking about such a big, small question as why. So she turned to face Chuck, screwing up her courage and resigning herself to leaping before she had looked. "Actually . . . would you mind coming up to my apartment so we could talk? You know, like you said you wanted to?"

Due to the lack of light inside the garage, Sarah might have imagined the way his face brightened slightly. But he definitely sounded eager when he said, "Yes, of course! I mean, I don't mind at all. Let's talk."

"Okay," Sarah said, opening the door and carefully climbing out of the car. Chuck hopped out and raced around, standing at the ready. She appreciated that he didn't try to help her, but was available if she needed it.

Ever since she had gotten hurt, he had been kind and attentive. Like he had been when they first met. And it was nice. She hadn't realized how much she had missed that.

Even with moving slower than normal, the trip to her apartment took no time at all. Within a few minutes, they were walking into her apartment. Sarah set down her bag and looked at Chuck. "Let's . . . let's sit down, yeah?" She moved over to the two overstuffed chairs, positioned in front of the large window that provided an amazing view of the beach eight stories below.

Sinking down into one of the chairs, Sarah tried to organize her thoughts. Tried to prepare. But before she was even close to ready, Chuck was talking.

"I'm really sorry that you got hurt, Sarah. Especially when it was my fault, because I wasn't doing my job. And the way I've been acting has just been so stupid and wrong and-and I hate that you got hurt and I wasn't able to tell you and Casey that it was a Fulcrum base, and I was really wrong, and I hope you can forgive me someday." He finished with a huff as he sucked in a breath.

Having him blurt out an apology like that made Sarah remember being a child. Remember those times when she knew she had messed up and she couldn't say sorry fast enough. Although she had quickly learned that the speed of your apology didn't matter, it seemed like Chuck hadn't learned that lesson. And she wasn't going to teach him that lesson, because . . . because he was so contrite and so humble. He really hoped she would forgive him.

"It's okay, Chuck," she said, resting her hand lightly on his forearm for a moment. "Really."

"It is?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

Sarah nodded. "Yeah, it is." She gave him a hesitant smile. "It's my fault, too. What happened. Because we didn't do enough research before going in. And we could have called you and run the details by you, but we didn't. We were stuck in our old ways, but the Intersect is something new."

He frowned, his forehead wrinkling. "Old ways?"

"Treating you like any other asset-and then being surprised when you acted like assets do," Sarah explained.

"How do assets act?" Chuck asked, his brow still furrowed.

"They're usually pretty powerless," Sarah said, shifting in her chair and stretching out her injured leg. "They don't have a lot of control, so most of them tend to rebel against their handlers."

"Like I did," Chuck said sheepishly.

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. "Well, yeah."

"I have said how sorry I am, right?"

There was no denying the sincerity of Chuck. But that didn't mean she could just forgive him and move on. Because they needed to work together. Chuck and Casey and herself, they were a team. And they all needed to understand their roles.

And because she didn't want to spend the rest of this assignment dreading it. Didn't want to keep working like they had for the last week. She wanted it to be more like how it was when they started, even if she felt uncomfortable with such close contact with Chuck.

"Listen, Chuck . . ." she began, speaking slowly. "I know this is hard for you. To not be able to do what you want, to put your life on hold for a year. But-but slacking off? Not reviewing the intelligence reports? Being unavailable? You can't go on like this."

His face was so expressive in showing his reaction to her gentle admonishment. At least, she was trying to be gentle, which was new for her. But his sad eyes and slumped shoulders made her wonder if she should have just let this go, until he nodded.

"You're totally right," he said. "I-I shouldn't have let the personal stuff interfere with work."

Sarah swallowed. So far, she had managed to not really think about what had started Chuck on his slacker path. And she wasn't sure if she wanted to open that wound and pour salt into it. Maybe it would be better to just leave it alone. Keep this about work.

"I'm sorry, Chuck."

"No, no, it's okay," he said, looking at her and giving her a weak smile. "I understand. And I promise, this is not gonna happen again. None of this."

There was an extra resolve in his voice, something she didn't understand. Her confusion must have showed on her face.

"I'm going to tell Lou we can't . . . we can't date anymore."

To her utter shock, a wave of emotion swept over her. But what was shocking wasn't the anger or the betrayal-it was the jealousy. Jealousy that Lou got to spend time with him, time that was simple and easy and happy, unlike her. Who had her memories of that night with Carmichael and the strange connection they had formed, battling with her growing appreciation for Chuck's gifts and abilities and charms-yes, goddamn it, charms. Because he was sweet and caring and kind and a bit cute. Not hot and sexy and brooding like Carmichael was, but definitely cute.

She didn't know what to say. Because she didn't really trust herself to not say something that would totally fuck things up. Like revealing that he was really a CIA agent and that they could be together and in fact, already had and she'd like some more of that, please. And thank God, Chuck was talking again.

"It's not fair to her, to date her while saying we're just friends. And it's not fair to you and Casey, because I'm putting you in danger by not doing my job like I should and because-because the cover is supposed to help you guys, too, right? And I don't want to risk anyone getting hurt because of me."

Her brain somehow managed to work well enough to speak. "That's . . . thank you, Chuck. That's going to make things easier, if-if you're committed to this."

"I don't think I have any other choice," he said, shrugging his shoulders a little. "Because getting that phone call that you were in the hospital, and Casey explaining what happened . . ." He lifted his eyes to hers, revealing the true depth of his feelings. "It was one of the worst moments of my life. I don't want to go through that again."

God. He kept making things easier on her. She had thought she would have to act like any other handler towards him, yelling and threatening and making him feel bad. But Chuck had already accepted most of the blame in the matter-not that it was as much as he thought it was-and was willing to correct the situation, to prevent anyone else from being hurt. Because if there was one thing operatives learned, it was that mistakes were made and people got hurt. But the real problem was if you let the same mistakes keep happening. That was what got you kicked out on your ass pretty fast, no matter how good you might be.

Reaching out, Sarah took Chuck's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "We're in this together, you know," she said quietly. "You and me and Casey. And in a few months, when this is all over, you can have the life you want."

For a long, endless moment, Chuck gazed at her. His brown eyes seemed to swirl with emotions and thoughts. She could feel butterflies in her stomach at being looked at like that. Then he squeezed her hand back and smiled.

"Maybe. At least, if some physicists are right and there are alternate universes, there's some version of me out there who's got it all. A guy who's cool and funny and awesome, who's lucky enough to have a great woman and a great job and just an all-around great life." His smile became a bit self-deprecating. "As crazy as that might sound."

A part of her couldn't help feeling sad at his words. Because she knew there was another version of him who fit most of his description: Charles Carmichael. A man who was awesome like Devon, a man whose existence as himself would make Chuck freak out.

But right now, she'd take Chuck Bartowski over Charles Carmichael.

"I don't think it's so crazy," she said, gazing at him.

Chuck looked surprised, then he grinned at her. "I wonder what an alternate universe Sarah Walker might be like."

And as they fell into a joking conversation about that other Sarah Walker and Chuck Bartowski, Sarah couldn't help wondering what would happen if Chuck knew the whole truth. About herself . . . and about himself.

End, Chapter 7


	8. Chapter 8

With the number of times she had needed to rehab injuries, she should have figured out a way to be more patient about it. Sometimes she wished she was one of those zen types, the kind of person who would use an injury as time to work on her other flaws or meditate or shit like that. But instead, she obsessed about each tiny improvement in her injury and kept testing herself to see if she could get back to real work instead of the piles and piles of reports that got foisted on her.

But after a week, when she was no further along, a mission presented itself that came with an agent who could take her place. Although frankly, Sarah didn't think that Carina Miller was in the same league as she was. Putting aside the comparisons of the DEA vs. the CIA, Carina was a much bigger risk-taker than Sarah. She rarely followed orders, especially when it meant she could climb the ladder. While Sarah was all for being ambitious, there were limits. But Carina didn't see it like that and that annoyed Sarah.

Or maybe it was just the way Carina eyed Chuck like he was a very tasty-looking piece of meat that was really annoying her.

Carina's arrival had been preceded by a message from Graham, letting Sarah and Casey know that she was coming. It also indicated that Chuck's true role and identity should be kept from Carina "as much as possible."

_Mr. Bartowski's unique position depends upon secrecy. If at all possible, he should not flash or display usage of the Intersect in Agent Miller's presence. Furthermore, Agent Miller is not to be made aware of Mr. Bartowski's Agency affiliation._

By that, Sarah took to mean that Carina shouldn't know that Chuck was really Carmichael. Which she had no problem with, frankly. It'd be tricky enough to deal with keeping Carina away from Chuck-if Carina knew who Chuck really was, it'd be even more of a goal for the DEA agent to nab Chuck for herself. Even without knowing that Carmichael was responsible for the best night of Sarah's life.

For once, Carina got right down to business once she arrived. She began with the target and the mission.

"Peyman Alahi is suspected of planning to use a diamond, currently in his possession, to fund his drug smuggling operations," Carina said, passing around photos of Alahi. "We want to acquire that diamond, thus crippling his organization."

"Check out the hair sweater on this guy," Chuck said after a moment, leaning in to get a better look at the photo. Sarah suspected that Chuck had flashed but had kept back what he had learned, as they had instructed him.

Casey grunted and Carina rolled her eyes. "Alahi is throwing a party tomorrow afternoon," Carina said. "Chuck and I will go in and find where the diamond is located within his compound."

"No recovery?" Casey asked.

Carina shook her head. "No, just recognizance."

It was all Sarah could to hold back a snort. She seriously doubted that Carina would restrict herself to that. She also didn't like the idea of Chuck and Carina together. "I should come along, too," she said, leaning forward. "After all, Chuck's not an agent. If anything happens, it's too dangerous for him."

"Oh, no?" Carina said, her voice expressing too much studied innocence to be believable. "I thought he was. Why else would he be working with us?"

Standing up quickly, Sarah ignored the twinge she felt in her injured leg. "Agent Miller, we should have a word." Without waiting for any objections or further niceties, she took Carina by the arm and dragged her into one of the holding cells. "Okay, spill," Sarah said, putting her hands on her hips.

"Spill? Spill what?" There was that damn "butter wouldn't melt in my mouth" tone. Combined with the small smirk on her face, it was clear that Carina knew something.

"Do you really think that innocent act will work on me?" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow. "What do you know, Carina?"

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you were working with Charles Carmichael?" Carina said. "And why does he look like some schlub and has everyone calling him Chuck?"

Sarah could feel her normal headache make its return. The one she got whenever she considered Chuck-is-really-Carmichael-but-only-kinda. She rubbed her fingers against the bridge of her nose, then looked at Carina. "I thought you didn't know Carmichael."

Carina snorted. "Please. I might not have met him, but I sure as hell know what he looks like. And that's Charles Carmichael in the other room."

And just like that, Sarah was faced with lying to someone who was more than a colleague but less than a friend, just so that she wasn't going against orders. "No, it's not. It may look like Carmichael, but he's Chuck Bartowski, asset and CIA analyst."

Her blue-green eyes narrowing, Carina's gaze pinned Sarah. "Really?"

"Really," Sarah said, using all of her acting skills to put this over. "He's just Chuck. Not Carmichael."

She wasn't sure if Carina bought it. And honestly, some days she was surprised that she didn't have more problems with it. But it was critical that Carina not know the truth-

"Bullshit."

Blowing out a breath, Sarah ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, maybe it's a little bullshit, but c'mon, Carina. I've got orders."

"When have you ever been that worried about following orders?" Carina said, hitching a hip up onto the table in the cell. "You weren't this much of a stick-in-the-mud when we worked together in Miami."

"When there's civilians involved, like Chuck, I get more cautious," Sarah said with a shrug.

With a roll of her eyes, Carina stood up. "Okay, so Chuckles, in spite of his resemblance to Carmichael, is just your average guy. It's too bad-I've heard rumors that Carmichael's a tiger in the sack. Figures that the time I cross his path, it's not really him."

The thing that Sarah should be focusing on was Carina's repeated disbelief in Chuck not being Carmichael. The way that the DEA agent wasn't accepting her explanations. But instead, it was the slight leer in Carina's voice that made Sarah tense.

"Carina . . . you're not going to try anything with Chuck, are you?" As soon as the question was out of her mouth, Sarah fought the urge to wince. Of all the ways to persuade Carina to back off, the questioning, deferential type of approach was the last one that would work.

"Why not? It's just a cover for you and Bartowski, the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing, isn't it?"

To Sarah's shock, Carina's question wasn't needling. It wasn't like she was trying to get a rise out of her. It was almost like Carina was asking seriously. Like she thought there was really something there-

"Of course it's just a cover," Sarah said instinctively. "There's no way I'd get involved with an asset. But that doesn't mean you can try to seduce Chuck-you're not exactly subtle and Chuck's family and friends have already questioned what's going on with me and Chuck. Have expressed some doubt in the cover at times."

"Need to go back to seduction training? If you just start visiting crappy bars in second-rate watering holes, you're bound to run into Roan Montgomery. I bet he'd be happy to give you a refresher." Carina smirked at Sarah. But instead of getting angry, Sarah had to laugh. Because really, this whole damn situation was just crazy.

"There's no complaints on my seduction abilities. But seriously, Carina-leave Chuck alone."

Carina let out a heavy sigh. "Oh, all right. If you insist. He wouldn't be much of a challenge, I suppose."

"He might surprise you," Sarah said, watching as Carina stood up and straightened her dress. "I was the one who had to make the move on him when we were trying to bring him in."

"Oh, I didn't mean that," Carina said. "I doubt he even noticed what color my eyes are-he was too busy looking at you."

It wasn't often that Sarah was struck dumb. Especially by someone who wasn't Chuck. But as she watched Carina leave the cell, her heels clicking against the floor and her hips swaying, Sarah felt her thoughts go slow and sticky.

Chuck was looking at her? After everything that had happened between them, he might still be interested in her? That was just . . . there was no way that he might still-

Sarah gave her head a shake. There was work to be done and she was mooning around like some teenage girl with a crush. And that wasn't what she was.

XXX

As Carina skipped over the waves on her watercraft, Sarah rounded on Chuck. "What the fuck is going on, Chuck?" she said, glaring at him. "You let Carina take the diamond, the diamond we weren't going to try and recover today in the first place-you just let her take it?"

Ever since the start of today's mission, she had felt a half-step off. Like she wasn't ready for this. She didn't understand why; physically it had been completely non-demanding until Carina had stolen the diamond and took off. She had tested her leg more than she should have, but so far she was okay. But more than that, something had been wrong. Having Carina there, interfering with the dynamic between herself and Chuck-because Carina hadn't stopped flirting with Chuck, not that he had noticed-put Sarah on edge.

And now, to make matters even worse, Chuck had turned the diamond over to Carina!

"I flashed! I flashed," he said quickly. "Alahi isn't going to use the diamond to buy more drugs-he was using it to buy his way into Fulcrum. So when Carina looked like she was gonna take it, I went along with her because I couldn't tell her what I knew and you were off getting pawed by Alahi."

"Are you saying I was shirking my job? Because getting pawed by sweaty, hairy men is part of what I do," Sarah said, unable to keep her anger at bay.

"No!" Chuck said, looking aghast. "I just meant-I had to think fast and I couldn't ask you so I just-I followed Carina's lead."

Sarah rubbed a hand over her face. "The problem is, Carina will turn the diamond over to the DEA to look good to her bosses. But we need that diamond in order to find Alahi's Fulcrum contacts."

"I'm sorry," Chuck said, looking down at her. "I-I didn't know what to do . . ."

Somehow, she found a smile for him. "It's okay, Chuck. Let's-damn it!"

There were several men approaching them. Clad all in black and carrying handguns, they must be Alahi's men. Grabbing Chuck's hand, she started running across the beach. "Casey!" she shouted into the mike in her bracelet. "Where are you? We need extraction now!"

"Nearly there!" Casey said, his voice even and steady. The words were barely out of his mouth before a black SUV pulled up in front of them and she saw Casey through the window.

Chuck had managed to keep up and yanked open the front passenger door as she opened the back door. They both got into the SUV and Casey took off, a few bullets pinging off the car. But they quickly escaped, giving them a chance to catch their breath.

"Miller took off with the diamond?" Casey said, pulling the SUV onto a paved road and heading towards Burbank.

She nodded. "Yeah. Gonna have to get it back. Alahi was going to use it to buy his way into Fulcrum."

Casey grunted. "Seems kinda risky for Fulcrum, lettin' in someone like Alahi."

Shrugging, Sarah leaned forward. "He's got a lot of resources-maybe that's what Fulcrum wants. Chuck, did you get anything else from your flash?"

He shook his head. "No-just that Alahi was supposed to make the exchange tomorrow."

"Great-he's gonna be desperate to get that diamond back, and he knows just who's got it," Casey said, turning the wheel to get onto the highway.

She rubbed her calf, trying to massage away the pain she felt from all of the running today. When the rolled up the pant leg of her jumpsuit, the bandage wrapped around her calf was bloody. But she kept that to herself. "Casey, you should go after Carina and get the diamond back. Meet me at Castle."

"What about me? I've got a shift but I could blow it off . . ." Chuck turned in his seat to look at her and she quickly pulled her pant leg back down.

"No, go ahead to the Buy More," Sarah said. "I can watch you on the surveillance cameras. Once we've got the diamond, we can move against Alahi and take him into custody."

"You're sure? Your leg isn't bothering you, is it?"

Sarah took a look at Chuck, searching his face to see if he had caught sight of her bloody bandage. But no, his guileless brown eyes were full of concern, not suspicion. She gave him a small smile. "I'm fine. Just go to work and we'll handle things from here."

Chuck didn't look fully convinced, but he nodded and turned to face forwards. Sarah leaned back against her seat and tried to gather her strength. She suspected she would need it.

XXX

Sometimes, it sucked when you were right.

Moving slowly down the stairs, Sarah slumped into a chair at the conference table in the center of Castle, staring blearily at the video screens. They showed the places that were under surveillance as part of Operation Bartowski: the Buy More, the Orange Orange, Chuck's bedroom, the courtyard of his apartment complex. Out of habit, her eyes flicked from one screen to another as her mind went over everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

As soon as Casey left to retrieve the diamond, things had gone to shit. Carina had gotten the drop on him and scurried off, only to be captured by Alahi's men and held for ransom. She had bluffed them into thinking she didn't have the diamond, telling them that Sarah had it. With Casey and Chuck, they had saved Carina and arrested Alahi. It had all worked out, but it had seemed touch and go way too often for Sarah's comfort. And with her leg acting up . . .

Sarah glared at her leg and lifted it up to rest her foot on the seat of a chair. Now she'd definitely have to take it easy for a few days. Casey had already told her if she tried to come in to Castle for the rest of the week, he'd take her to the hospital and sic Ellie on her. Which was playing dirty, in Sarah's opinion, but he'd made the ultimatum and she wasn't about to face Ellie's disappointment and doctorly clucking. So it looked like she was taking the rest of the week off. Although she certainly wasn't going to do nothing-there was plenty of research she could do while sitting on her ass.

"How's the leg, Walker?" Carina asked as she breezed into the room, followed by Casey.

She mock-glared at the other woman. "Fine," she said, shooting a look at Casey. He grunted and wandered off towards the shooting range, leaving them alone.

Carina leaned against the conference table. "So how much longer do you have here?"

"Seven months or so," Sarah said, leaning back in her chair. "Why, you want to spend Christmas in California and need to know if I'll still be here?"

"Nope, just wondering how long you'll have to put up this act. With Carmichael pretending to be Chuck Bartowski and him being crazy about you." Carina eyed Sarah. "And you definitely being interested in him."

Looking up at Carina, Sarah knew what she should do. Especially with being inside Castle, she should deny Chuck's true identity and refuse to discuss whether he might have feelings for her. It would be against orders, against protocol, to discuss this with Carina.

But she was just so damn tired. Tired and confused and lost, and Carina was the closest thing she had to a friend. It was funny how that worked out-she barely knew Carina, but somehow she got the sense that anything she told her would be kept in confidence. That she wasn't going to blab things to every CIA agent she encountered.

And maybe she was just tired of keeping quiet. So Sarah broke the rules.

"Okay. Yeah, he really is Carmichael," she said, her voice low. "But he doesn't know that."

"What the fuck?" Carina asked, her forehead wrinkling in confusion.

She glanced around and leaned forward. "I can't get into it, but just suffice it to say, he really does think he's Chuck Bartowski. He has no idea he's a CIA agent or that his real name is Charles Carmichael. So he's not pretending."

"Whoa. That's trippy," Carina said.

"That's one way of putting it," Sarah said, rubbing her temples.

"So he thinks he's just some geek, and then you come into his life . . . no wonder he's crazy about you," Carina said. "But what I don't get is why you like him."

"I told you, it's just a-"

"Don't give me that," Carina interrupted her. "You like him." Her lips twisted. "You haven't slept with him-this isn't about sex. You actually seriously like this guy."

If she admitted to liking Chuck, that would lead to revealing way too much. About how she had worked with Carmichael before, about that night in the Dominican Republic, about how ever since she met him her life had seemed like a mess. And Sarah couldn't do that. She could feel her throat closing up at the possibility of talking about this. The small amount of trust she had in Carina wouldn't be enough for this confession. Honestly, Sarah doubted there was anyone she trusted enough to give them the whole story.

When the silence got too thick, Sarah stood up and shuffled some file folders. "You've got a ride to catch, right?"

Carina nodded, her eyes narrowed. Then, to Sarah's surprise, she leaned over and loosely hugged her. "Take it easy, Walker. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That leaves nothing," she said, managing to smile a little, grateful for once she had come up with something funny to say.

Rolling her eyes, Carina smirked. "Good to see you. Say goodbye to Casey for me-and tell him I liked the four-leaf clovers."

"Nope," Sarah said, smiling wider. "See you when I see you."

And as she watched Carina walk away, Sarah found that she hoped she'd see the DEA agent again sometime. Because she did make life interesting. And it was different, to feel like she had a friend. Maybe not according to normal rules of friendship, but then, they were spies. Normal didn't really come into play.

Sarah focused on gathering some paperwork together, getting ready to leave Castle, when something on the video screens caught her attention. Her eyes widened as she realized that in the Orange Orange, Carina was talking to Chuck.

Scrambling for the remote, Sarah quickly turned on the sound for the feed from the yogurt shop.

" . . . you know, I still have a few hours before I have to leave," Carina was saying, running her eyes up and down Chuck. "Plenty of time to get a hotel room."

"Oh-oh, um, that is . . . that is a tempting offer, but-"

Watching Chuck splutter and stammer in the face of Hurricane Carina, Sarah was ready to head for the stairs, so she could send Carina on her way and rescue Chuck. But Carina's words made her freeze in her tracks.

"Worried about Sarah finding out?"

Chuck's eyes, already wide, became the size of dinner plates. "What? What, that's-that's ridiculous. I mean, Sarah and me, we're-we're just friends. I mean, it's a cover, her being my girlfriend. And that-that's why I have to say no, even though you're very beautiful and very alluring and I'm really stupid."

Carina sighed heavily, playing with her hair. "You're sure?" she asked, looking at him from under her lashes.

She was good, Sarah had to admit. If Chuck was a lesser man, that look would have been enough to get him over his hesitation.

"Why-why would you want-I mean, why me?" Chuck blinked at Carina, looking truly confused and lost. Sarah felt a pang at the thought that Chuck was so unused to being hit on, to being appreciated for who he was. It was a side of him that he kept hidden behind self-deprecating smiles and humor, but seeing it so nakedly displayed on his face . . .

It was hard to tell on the black and white video screen, but it looked like Carina was looking deep into Chuck's eyes. She leaned in close to him and Sarah had to turn up the volume to hear what she said.

"Because Sarah wants you, even though the rules say she can't have you. But the rules don't mean anything to me."

Those long eyelashes of Chuck's, the ones that she was rather jealous of, fluttered as he blinked. "W-what? Sarah-me? No, no, it's just a cover, like I said. She-she told me she doesn't . . . "

Oh, she was gonna kill Carina. Slowly, inventively, leaving Carina's corpse in an embarrassing position. Like stuffed with Swedish meatballs inside an IKEA.

Slowly, Carina ran her eyes up and down Chuck. Like she was measuring him. Then she gave a small shrug of her shoulders, her expression becoming rueful. "She just doesn't know what she wants yet. But I do."

What the hell did that even mean? Yeah, Carina was kind of a friend, but it wasn't like she knew Sarah inside and out. How could she think she knew what Sarah wanted? Her eyes narrowed as she watched Carina brush her hand over Chuck's shoulder, her fingers sliding down his arm and checking out his muscles before walking out of the Orange Orange.

Sarah blinked and eased herself down into a chair, feeling a bit thrown as the impact of Carina's words began to sink in. Could Carina see that she had feelings for Chuck? Did she even have feelings for him? Even now after what had happened with Lou and all that heartbreak and drama, when she had vowed to become more professional and keep Chuck as only an asset in her mind, she was still failing?

Why couldn't she get her shit together? Sure, Chuck was a great guy. Yeah, he had been, all in all, the model of a cooperative asset. And the fact that he was sweet and smart and respectful should be just a bonus, something that made the job a little easier than her typical assignments. But her history with Carmichael, the very nature of this mission-there was no way she should have feelings for Chuck.

And if she did have feelings for him, she certainly shouldn't be so obvious that Carina could pick up on it. For fuck's sake, even Chuck seemed to sense she had feelings for him, if the whole debacle with the truth serum wasn't proof enough. She had just assumed that she had done her job too well and made him think there was something there that wasn't . . . but what if Carina was right? What if she just didn't know what she wanted?

Even though she had a strong urge to bury her face in her hands, Sarah made herself stand up and gather the folders she had collected. She was now officially on leave because of her injury, and right now, a break from Chuck Bartowski was just what she needed. A few days away from all this confusion would be enough to get her back on track.

XXX

There had to be some kind of simple test to give yourself to determine if you were going crazy, right?

Slapping shut the laptop she had borrowed from Castle, Sarah pushed away from the desk and went to her hotel room's balcony. The cool sea breeze whipped her hair as she leaned her arms on the railing, gazing out at the waves.

It had been three days since she had last been in Castle. Each day of her absence, Casey phoned her with a terse report on what was going on, which wasn't much. So mostly he was just complaining about Chuck. That didn't help much with her goal of trying to get her head straightened out, but hell, it wasn't like it was the first time her job got in the way of her mental health.

Thus the attempts at using Google to find online sanity diagnostics, which had failed miserably. So had her more low-tech method of list-making, although it had become her go-to method for dealing with most challenges. But making a list was only as good as the question she was asking herself and how honest she was willing to be. And so far, she was pretty sure that she wasn't honest enough.

It was one thing if Chuck thought she had feelings for him, based on their cover relationship and what she had to do to maintain appearances for Chuck's family and friends. It was something very very different if she had actual feelings for Chuck. Feelings that shone through around other people, like Carina. Feelings that went beyond the cover and could possibly be real. Maybe. A little bit.

Or maybe it was all just residue from what happened with Carmichael. That could be it, couldn't it? They clicked while working a mission together, had a night of the best sex ever, then he left with only a lame note to show he'd even been there. Admittedly, the longer she knew Chuck the harder it was to think about Carmichael when she looked at him-at Chuck, that is. But she had to consider that whatever feelings she might be showing towards Chuck were because of what happened with Carmichael.

Yet Sarah had to discount that possibility. Because Chuck was his own person, so distinct and different from Carmichael. Yeah, they seemed to have some things in common. There was the respect for her as an equal when it came to the job. They had a similar sense of humor-neither of them took themselves that seriously and were self-deprecating to different extremes. And they both were complete geniuses.

But . . . but she couldn't seem to shake the belief that Chuck wasn't Carmichael. Chuck had his nerdy pastimes, his affection and love for his sister, his friendship with Morgan. Carmichael didn't seem to have any of that. The agent might be the most accomplished man in the CIA, but Sarah doubted he was much fun to spend time with when he wasn't working. Chuck, on the other hand, was so full of passion and excitement for life, even with the way life had knocked him down. She admired that about him.

Chuck might be a manufactured personality, but she liked him. But just because she liked him, it didn't mean she wanted more, did it?

Nibbling on her lower lip, Sarah turned into her apartment and grabbed her ever-present notepad. Curling up on one of the green overstuffed chairs by the balcony, she began writing down the things she felt about Chuck. And as the list grew, covering first one and then two pages of paper, her heart sank. Because it looked like Carina might be right.

The ringing of her phone couldn't have come at a better time. She leaped to her feet, noticing in the back of her mind that for the first time her leg hadn't felt a twinge of pain from her injury, and grabbed her cell phone. "Walker."

"Bartowski just found a bug in the Buy More."

Casey's voice was tense, which made Sarah's alarm bells go off, even as she felt confused. "Yeah, so? We've got bugs all over the-"

"It's not one of ours," Casey said. "It's a GLG-20."

Sarah grimaced. "We have a problem," she said, stating the obvious. Because they both knew who used GLG-20s: Fulcrum.

Casey let out his annoyed grunt. "No shit. We need to get everything out of the Buy More tonight while it's closed and find the receiver."

"Okay, call in a squad and I'll meet you at the Buy More tonight after it closes. I suppose for a national security emergency, I'm allowed back into Castle?" Sarah asked, heading to her closet to grab some clothes.

"Hell, yeah. Get here in an hour-we gotta call this in and if we're gonna get reamed out by the bosses, we'll face it together."

She stopped, holding a shirt in her hand, at Casey's words. Although they had gotten over their initial animosity, their partnership wasn't of the warm and fuzzy variety. Yet Casey was a good partner, and hearing him express a desire for them to face possible punishment together . . . it made her feel like something had changed.

"Okay," she said, feeling too taken aback to actually say that to Casey. And he'd probably make some crack about not having lady feelings if she did bring up their partnership. "See you in an hour."

He hung up the phone without another word and Sarah started getting dressed. Her mind was racing at the thought of Fulcrum bugging the Buy More. Had they screwed up somewhere? Did they know that Chuck was the Intersect? Fulcrum was so crazy about making better spies, and the Intersect was a perfect way of doing just that. Or could it be more simple and they were really after Carmichael? She knew through the grapevine that he had been doing a lot of work against Fulcrum prior to the Intersect project. And with Carmichael dropping off the radar, Fulcrum had probably freaked out and threw a bunch of resources towards finding him.

Either way, this wasn't good. And she was sure that Graham and General Beckman were going to be pretty pissed.

XXX

"It could be that Operation Bartowski will have to come to a premature close."

Sarah exchanged glances with Casey, then turned back to the video screens. "Meaning what, General?"

"We find a way to remove just the Bartowski personality from Agent Carmichael and in the meanwhile, he's in a bunker for his own protection," Beckman said bluntly.

"Time is of the essence, agents," Graham said, leaning in towards the camera on his end of the video connection. "If that receiver is not found within twenty-four hours, we'll have to take steps to protect Carmichael."

"Understood. General, Director, we'll get to work," Casey said. Sarah was too surprised to do anything more than nod before the link was disconnected.

"You and I both know that they won't exactly hurry to get Chuck outta Carmichael," Casey said, eyeing Sarah.

"No, they won't," Sarah said slowly. "It'd be a lot easier to control Chuck than Carmichael. And now that they know the Intersect can be used successfully, they'll want to have access to it for as long as they can. Longer than a year."

"Exactly. So we better get our asses in gear," Casey said. "The retrieval team should be waiting for us at the Buy More."

Throughout the long night of packing up the Buy More's contents-all its contents-and transporting it to a CIA warehouse, Sarah's thoughts were in a whirl. She was almost grateful for the robotic nature of the job, with the cataloging and inventorying, because it let her think without screwing up her work.

Because she had a lot to think about. About Chuck, about Carmichael, about the Intersect. And about how she felt about how the CIA and the NSA might use those things to their advantage.

Keeping Agent Charles Carmichael locked up in a bunker for his "protection," while compelling him to use the Intersect, would be a tricky proposition. With Carmichael's skills and the bonus of the Intersect, it wouldn't be hard for him to break his way out and disappear. So Beckman's words to the contrary, there was a huge benefit for the powers-that-be to keep the Chuck personality intact for as long as he was in the bunker. Which could be forever.

Her lips twisted with disgust. She should have seen that coming. Should have known that all the concern about damaging Carmichael's brain was just a front until they realized if he could handle the Intersect. And now that they knew he was capable, they weren't about to let this valuable tool be gone in a year.

So they'd put Chuck in a bunker and make him flash as much as possible and keep him there for as long as they could. Never mind that Carmichael was one of the best, never mind that Carmichael was much more useful in the field than in a bunker. The CIA and NSA would be too busy patting themselves on the back, too impressed with their American determination to make the Intersect work despite the earlier failures, to consider how they were imprisoning one of their own for nothing.

And even worse would be the effect on Chuck. He wouldn't be able to handle being in a bunker, cut off from his family and friends, without any kind of support system or normal everyday structure. Just like Carmichael, he'd be imprisoned when he'd done nothing wrong. And while Carmichael at least would have the ability to escape, Chuck wouldn't. Chuck would be consigned to that bunker with no hope, no escape . . .

Shaking her head, Sarah focused on scanning the items from the Buy More. Right now, the priority was finding the receiver for the GLG-20, as well as getting a sense for just how many bugs had been planted in the Buy More. Because where there was one GLG-20, there was always more. It was such a primitive, low-range device that you had to over-use the bugs in order to guarantee full coverage.

By the next morning, they had found twenty-seven GLG-20 bugs but no receiver. Chuck arrived at the warehouse, sent to bring Casey back to the stripped Buy More and an angry store manager.

"Out of everything, Big Mike was really only upset about his missing fish," Chuck said, looking around the warehouse. "Wow. You really recreated the whole Buy More here."

"A fish?" Sarah asked, looking at Casey.

"Big Mike's got a seven-foot marlin in his office," Chuck explained. "His pride and joy."

"We didn't find any marlin when we went in," Casey said. "You think-"

"That's where the receiver is," Sarah said. "Fulcrum must have gone in last night and taken the marlin before we got there."

"Um, guys? There might be another possibility."

When Sarah and Casey turned to look at Chuck, he gave them a tight grin. "Jeff and Lester have been acting very squirrelly today. Squirrelly even for them," he said, cutting off the objection that Casey looked like he was about to make.

"Then I've got two perverts to talk to," Casey said, rolling his neck before turning on his heel, probably heading towards his Crown Victoria.

"Casey seems happiest when he's getting to knock heads together," Chuck said, turning to look at Sarah with a small smile on his face. "I guess it's the simple things in life."

Sarah tried to smile back, but seeing Chuck standing in front of her, joking and happy and totally unaware of what might happen to him . . .

Like so often when it came to Chuck, she must not have hidden her feelings well enough, because his smile faded and his forehead wrinkled. "What's wrong?"

If she hadn't been so tired, if she hadn't spent all night thinking about this, she might have found a way to lie to Chuck. Tell him it was nothing and send him back to the Buy More with Casey. But instead, she looked up at him and said quietly, "Chuck, finding these bugs-it's not a good thing."

"Of course not, but-but you and Casey will find the receiver and everything will be okay. Right?"

"Maybe," she said. "But . . . but if we can't find it, or if Fulcrum has learned too much from the bugs . . ."

Chuck was a smart guy. She could see the worry and nerves appear in his eyes, the thinning of his lips and the tightness of his shoulders as he started feeling the tension. Because even though she had tried to shield him from the darker side of the spy life, he had seen enough to know that something was wrong.

Taking a deep breath, she laid it out for him. "If your safety has been compromised, it's possible that you'll need to go into protective custody for a while."

She couldn't put it bluntly. Couldn't say that he'd end up in a bunker, deep underground, staring at four white walls with little human contact, little distraction. But with the way Chuck's eyes widened, with the absolute fear that dawned on his face, she wondered if she should have found the courage to say just that.

"Bartowski! Shake a leg!"

Casey's voice, calling from the entrance to the warehouse, snapped them both out of the bubble they were in.

"It's going to be okay, Chuck," she said, resting a hand on his arm. "We'll find the receiver, and Casey and I will do everything we can to keep you here."

And maybe she should be surprised by how much she meant her words, but she really wasn't. Because Sarah knew that she would move heaven and earth to keep Chuck here in Burbank, out of the clutches of the CIA and NSA. Because it wasn't just his life at risk-it was Carmichael's, too.

One of these days, her mind was just completely going to split from trying to make sense of this all.

He stared at her for a long moment. His eyes were churning with emotion, more than she had ever seen before. It was like this was the whole, complete, unguarded Chuck, and he was petrified. Then he gave a shake of his head and stepped back. Without a word, he turned and walked towards Casey, his shoulders slumped and his head down.

Sarah watched him and knew that he had already given up. He didn't think he'd be saved. Seeing him look so defeated, so downtrodden . . . it made something inside her wake up. A determination that she didn't realize she had, a will to fight that she had never accessed before.

Chuck wasn't going into a bunker. Not as long as she was his handler.

XXX

Shivering, Sarah peered through the window of the freezer. Why did the freezer even have a window? Was it for situations like this, when someone got locked in? Or did the frozen yogurt like having a view?

The problem with the window was that it let her see that no one was coming. No one was here to release her, to let her out so she could do her job. Because Chuck was gone, taken by some cop that she doubted was actually a cop, and she was stuck in this goddamn ice box freezing her ass off.

Rubbing her hands up and down her arms, she wished that Chuck had been able to shoot the lock off. It had been a big ask, she knew, but perhaps some innate Carmichael-ness inside him would have let Chuck be a crack shot. Or maybe that whole tranq gun thing that Carmichael had was the problem.

And slowly succumbing to hypothermia clearly made her think about things that were pointless at this time and place.

She had never been so happy to see Casey as she was when he stepped into the back room of the Orange Orange. "Casey!" she shouted, banging a little on the window.

Fortunately, Casey had no problems shooting open the lock. She stepped out of the freezer, feeling the rush of room-temperature air over her skin. "The pita girl is Fulcrum. She's got the receiver. And Chuck got taken by that LAPD detective."

"He's no cop," Casey said, looking at her. "You okay to get Chuck? I'll deal with the PITA girl."

It might be the temperature change, but Sarah was pretty sure Casey meant pita as pain-in-the-ass instead of Middle Eastern flatbread. And she was also sure that he just told her to disobey orders by keeping Chuck out of the CIA's control. She blinked up at him.

"What?" he said. "You think I want a fellow agent to rot in a bunker? Get going, Walker!"

"Yeah, yeah, right." She turned and went to the scanner, letting herself into Castle. She threw on some dark clothes, feeling grateful for long sleeves, and then stopped at the armoury, stocking up on knives and jamming her S&W in the back of her jeans. Then, without any further delay, she ran for her Porsche.

According to Chuck's GPS tracker, he was moving towards downtown Los Angeles. Sarah floored her Porsche, giving thanks that her snobby disdain for that Honda meant she had gotten her sports car sent to LA. Because in this car, she felt like she had a chance, even with the head start that the cop and Chuck had.

She was within a half-mile of the tracker when her phone rang. "Walker!" she barked out, weaving through the traffic with one hand on the wheel.

"That detective? Yeah, he's CIA. Code name is Longshore." Casey's voice was gruff.

"Fuck!" Sarah muttered, yanking the wheel. "I'm almost on top of them. Do you know where-"

Casey read off an address. "That's where the chopper is coming to pick them up in ten. How close are you?"

"Half-mile," Sarah said tightly. "I'm going to try and close the gap, now that I know where they're going."

"PITA girl got the drop on me, so watch yourself," Casey said, sounding annoyed and embarrassed.

Did Casey have some problem with hitting girls? First Carina, now pita girl. Not that Sarah had any time to deal with this problem now. "Gotcha. Call you later."

Hanging up her phone and tossing it into the passenger seat, Sarah pressed the gas pedal down and swerved through traffic. When she reached the address, she grabbed a parking spot, not even caring if she was illegally parked, and took off at a run for the rooftop helipad.

As she ran, all she could think of was saving Chuck. Keeping him away from the CIA, from Graham and Beckman who saw him as an asset. It was like they forgot who he really was: not just Agent Charles Carmichael, but as a person. He was a human being, an American citizen, and he was being jerked around according to political whims and the ends justifying the means.

He didn't deserve that. And she was going to make sure he got what he deserved.

Her feet pounded on the stairs to the pad, her heart leaping into her throat when she spotted them. "Longshore!" she called out, watching as they turned around while preparing herself to possibly commit treason.

XXX

Sarah pulled up in front of Chuck's apartment complex and let out a deep breath. She turned her head and looked at Chuck, who was sitting slumped in the passenger seat. They had been silent the whole drive from Castle to Echo Park, because . . . because there was so much to say and also nothing to say.

That moment on the roof, with Chuck looking at her and asking her to tell his family and friends how much he loved them, it changed things between them. It wasn't just about Chuck being her asset, being her guy. It was about protecting him. Saving him from anything that might threaten him.

Not just terrorists.

Standing there with Chuck holding her hands, she got caught up in the moment. She had nearly cried, for fuck's sake. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt tears, real honest-to-God tears. But seeing his courage and sacrifice in the face of something that scared him shitless, it made her feel weak and weepy.

"Are you okay, Chuck?" she asked quietly, reaching out to lightly touch his shoulder.

He started and turned to face her. "I should ask you that," he said, swallowing. "You're the one who fell into a dumpster. Are you sure you're not hurt? I mean, you were already recovering . . ."

Somehow she found a smile for him. "That garbage broke my fall really well. And I kinda fell on top of the pita girl, too."

For once, she made him laugh. Sure, it was more of a broken little chuckle, not a big laugh with sparkling eyes, but . . . she made him laugh.

Chuck ran his fingers through his hair, the curls poofing up on him. "This has been a really long day."

"Putting it mildly, Chuck," she said, leaning her head back against her seat. "You should get some sleep."

"Oh, I'm gonna. Like, a lot of it. But first . . ." He turned as much as he could in his seat so he could face her. "Thank you, Sarah."

His voice was full of sincerity, and his eyes . . . the dim light made it hard for her to fully take them in, but she could see the gratitude and happiness shining in them. It made her cheeks feel hot.

"You-you don't have to thank me," she said, her voice sounding a bit choked.

"Yeah, I do," he said, his eyes locked on her face. "Because if it wasn't for you, I'd be on my way to a bunker, instead of sitting outside my home. I'd be all alone instead of being close to my friends and family. It's all thanks to you, Sarah, so . . . thank you."

She lowered her eyes, unable to keep looking at him. Unable to look at the goodness in his face and know that she wasn't worth such thanks. He was a good person, a nice guy, and he thought the same of everyone. But the thing was, she was a long way from nice. From good. And she couldn't even warn him to stay far, far away from her. Because there was her job, of course. But even more than that, because he wouldn't listen.

God, all she seemed to be doing now was thinking and feeling. And it sucked. She never used to be like this.

Clearing her throat, she gathered herself and glanced at him. "You're welcome, Chuck. I . . . It's nice to hear that. But-but it was the least I could do. Keeping you here in Burbank. Because with everything you've gone through, the last thing you should have to worry about is your country betraying you. And as long as I'm here, you won't have to worry about that."

For the rest of her life, Sarah would remember the smile Chuck gave her at this moment. The soft gentle quirk of his lips, the whiteness of his teeth, how his eyes got a warm glow that made her think of firelight shining through a glass of whisky . . . it was the perfect smile at the perfect moment.

And if he kept smiling at her like that, she'd listen to that little voice inside herself again and do something she shouldn't do.

Somehow, she managed to smile back at him and patted his shoulder. "It's late. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay. You know if your leg or anything else bothers you, Ellie and Devon would be happy to take a look at it . . ."

"I know, Dad," she said, shooting him a small grin. Even though on the inside she didn't really feel like grinning.

Chuck laughed a little. "Okay, okay, I get the message." He paused and looked at her, then smiled. "Good night, Sarah."

"Night, Chuck," she said, hoping her voice sounded as breezy and natural as she hoped. He gave her a small wave as he climbed out of her car and then walked into the courtyard.

She watched the progress of his tracker on her phone, making sure he got into the apartment. Then she slowly started her car and pulled away from the curb, driving back to her hotel.

He thanked her. The sweet adorable idiot _thanked_ her. And he had no idea that for a moment, there was a split second when she thought that maybe it'd be good if the mission ended early. So that she could get away from all these feelings, all these emotions that she couldn't understand or categorize or deny. So that she could go back to what was easy and simple.

But it had been so long since her life had been simple and easy, she wasn't sure she could go back to that.

It was clear that she needed to find a way to handle whatever she was feeling. Because she couldn't trust anyone else to protect Chuck and keep him in the life he wanted. It might only last for seven more months, but she wanted him to have the security of his family and friends. Wanted him to regain some confidence, to see how amazing he was.

She just wanted him to be happy. Even at her own expense.

End, Chapter 8


	9. Chapter 9

The next month was fairly quiet for Operation Bartowski. Well, quiet in the sense of steady work with few curveballs, the team making progress towards defeating Fulcrum. That was what they were supposed to be doing here: eliminating an international terrorist group, not dealing with emotional landmines and discovering that all the things you thought you were, you might not be anymore. 

Sarah did notice that the heat was definitely getting turned up--that the expectations of Operation Bartowski had risen. So far, their missions had somehow managed to succeed, gaining what they were after and sometimes more, like crippling Peyman Alahi and compelling Mei Ling Cho to defect. Graham and Beckman seemed to be shooting more challenging assignments towards Operation Bartowski, and Chuck’s flashes had certainly helped them stumble upon a few things they might not have found otherwise. 

But more than that, Fulcrum had them in their sights now. They weren’t going up against rent-a-thugs now, like Bulsara’s men. Whoever the cream of the crop was for Fulcrum, they were getting sent against the team. And Sarah had to admit, there had been a few close calls. The brick shithouse Mr. Colt . . . La Ciudad, the vicious assassin . . . these were not easy takedowns. 

“This mission’s gettin’ good,” Casey had said while they cleaned a bunch of weapons after arresting La Ciudad. “The intel that Bartowski’s comin’ up with, it’s high-quality stuff. Fulcrum must be shitting bricks over how we keep pickin’ off their cells.” 

As she carefully removed some powder residue from the barrel of a Glock, Sarah glanced at Casey. “Yeah . . . which makes them send their best people against us.”

“Worried about your boy toy, Walker?” 

She rolled her eyes. “No, I’m worried about protecting the incredibly important asset we’ve been assigned to keep safe.” 

He snorted. “Uh-huh, sure.” 

“I’m serious, Casey,” she said, giving him a stern look. “It’s getting harder to protect Chuck with what Fulcrum is throwing at us.” 

“We should train the kid,” Casey said, holding a brush in his hand as he inspected the barrel of his Sig. “Let him feel like he can protect himself. And he might tap into all that CIA training on some level.” 

“I think it’d put too much stress on his brain,” Sarah said. “With the implanted personality and the Intersect and all that.” 

There was also the small problem that for a smart guy who seemed to understand strategy when it came to video games, Chuck had no idea how to apply that to being a spy. Between handing the diamond over to Carina and spilling his guts to La Ciuadad, it actually made her kind of angry. Because she just didn’t understand how he couldn’t apply his big brain to this kind of tactics. 

Casey set down the gun he was cleaning and looked at her. “Or too much stress on you?” 

It took all her ability to not reveal her surprise at his challenge. He wasn’t blind; he spent even more time around her and Chuck than Carina had. So by now, he was bound to have realized that between herself and Chuck there was . . . something. Something underneath the surface. 

Fortunately, Casey seemed to have made his point. He picked his gun back up and went back to cleaning it. “We should check with Dr. Woodcomb, see what she says. Been a while since we had a meeting anyway.” 

“Yes . . .” Sarah said slowly, her hands feeling clumsy as she reassembled the Glock. “I’ll ask her tonight--Chuck and I have a cover date.” 

“I’m afraid you might have to change your plans.” 

Oh, fuck. 

Sarah turned in her chair slowly, her eyes confirming what she had heard: Bryce Larkin, standing at the top of the metal staircase that lead down into Castle. 

Fuck, she repeated to herself. For a moment, she was tempted to pick up any of the guns spread out before herself and Casey and use Bryce for target practice, but she held back. Instead, she pasted on a smile. “Agent Larkin.” 

“Oh, come on, Sarah,” he said as he jogged down the stairs, his feet making barely any noise on the metal risers. “Don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet?” He gave her a lopsided grin as he approached the conference table where they had been working. “Or should I not leave myself open like that?” 

“What do you think, Bryce?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Major John Casey, NSA, meet Agent Bryce Larkin, CIA.” 

“Larkin.” Casey’s voice was the epitome of unimpressed. Sarah nearly grinned as Bryce had to pull back the hand he had extended when it was clear that Casey wasn’t going to shake it. 

“If this is a social visit, Bryce . . .” Sarah let her voice trail off, hoping that he realized just what a bad idea that was. 

“Happily, no,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his jeans and pulling out a flash drive. “I’ve been read into Operation Bartowski in order to see if the Intersect can help with the assignment I’m working on. I need Bartowski to review what’s on this drive and report if the Intersect has any intel.” 

“Graham read you in?” What the fuck? What happened to _secrecy_ and _protecting Mr. Bartowski_ and all the other crap they had been fed when Carina worked with them? 

“He did,” Bryce said, looking at Sarah. “If this mission goes well, there was talk about me joining Operation Bartowski. To help provide security for the asset.” 

Casey let out a bark of laughter. “Great idea, CIA.”

“If you’re concerned, Major Casey, that Agent Walker and I won’t be able to stay professional--”

“That’s not it,” Casey said. “Not entirely, at least. How about the fact that the kid’s cover story has you sendin’ him the Intersect in the first place?” 

Holy shit. Why didn’t she know that? And how did Casey know it? So Bryce was that “old friend from college” in Chuck’s story about how he got the Intersect?

Bryce shrugged. “I knew Carmichael--we went through training together, so he called me in advance and tipped me off about that element of his backstory. Coming in as an adversary will keep Bartowski off-balance enough that there shouldn’t be any issues with the fake personality.” 

“If you knew all that, why’d you need to get read in?” Casey asked, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. 

“All Carmichael told me was that he was preparing a cover identity for himself and I had a part in his backstory. I didn’t know anything about the Intersect or the personality implant until Graham told me yesterday,” Bryce said, his eyes big and blue and guileless. 

Sarah knew just how many times he had used those eyes to appear innocent, and seeing him use them on her and Casey immediately raised her hackles. Standing up, she held her hand out. “Give me the flash drive and I’ll ask Chuck to take a look at it.”

“That’s not exactly the way this is supposed to work, Sarah.” Bryce’s voice shifted to a coaxing tone. “If this is permanent, I’ll be co-handling Chuck with you.” 

“I don’t see that as being necessary,” Sarah said icily. “As Chuck’s co-worker and girlfriend respectively, Casey and I fill two large roles in Chuck’s life. What space is there for you?”

“As his old college friend who’s fallen on a spell of bad luck and needs some help,” Bryce said. 

“A spy who’s fallen on bad luck?” Casey smirked. “It’s believable that you Agency types would have that happen, but it’s pretty weak.” 

Bryce opened his mouth, but Sarah cut him off. She knew this was about to descend into a pissing contest and she wasn’t interested in having Casey and Bryce whip out and measure each other’s dicks. Metaphorically or literally. 

“That cover won’t work at all. You sent Chuck the Intersect why?”

“He doesn’t really know,” Bryce said, looking a bit sulky.

She took a moment to consider what she knew about Chuck and what role Bryce could play. “You said you’d be coming back as an adversary. Fine. You went rogue in the eyes of the CIA and started working for Fulcrum, not realizing what they were. They wanted the Intersect, and when you found out what Fulcrum was, you sent the Intersect to Chuck to keep it safe.”

“Not very personal,” Casey commented. “Not really adversary material.”

“There is a personal component,” Bryce said, sighing a bit. “Supposedly in college, I stole Bartowski’s girlfriend.” 

Sarah nearly smirked. “Perfect,” she said. “You can show up at Chuck’s apartment tonight, after my date with Chuck, and tell him that you need his help because of Fulcrum.” 

For someone who hated messy emotional situations, Bryce had stepped right into this one. His ambition must have leaped at the chance to be involved in such a high-profile, top-secret assignment like Operation Bartowski--but Sarah wasn’t about to make this easy on him. 

Bryce sighed heavily and shrugged. “Very well.” He nodded to Casey and then, just like that, he walked up the stairs and out of Castle. 

“Great. I’m in a soap opera,” Casey grumbled as Sarah slumped down into her chair. 

“Thanks, Casey,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “I appreciate the show of support.” 

“I thought freezin’ Larkin out was a show of support,” he said, eyeing her as he began gathering up the weapons, probably to take them back to the armoury. 

She looked up at Casey and gave him a small smile. “It was. Thanks.” 

He shrugged. “I heard about what happened. He was a dick, by the way.” 

“Yeah, he was,” Sarah said. “Sadly, now I’ve got to work with him. Without shooting him.” 

“I could shoot him,” Casey offered. 

That prompted a snicker. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

Casey nodded and headed towards the armoury, leaving her alone. Reaching for the control panel, she tapped on a few keys and brought up Bryce’s service record. Of course, at her access level, the information was limited. But there was enough there to confirm her hunch: Bryce hadn’t been doing so well since he had dumped her. She wondered if his desire to become a permanent member of Operation Bartowski was due to the team’s success rate or his desire to recapture what Larkin and Walker used to have, back in the good old days. 

Not that it mattered what Bryce wanted. Because Sarah was going to do everything she could to keep him out of this. It was bad enough, with her questions about how she felt for Chuck--she wasn’t cut out to have her ex in the equation, too. 

Even though resuming her relationship with Bryce would be so simple and easy, if she could keep it as just sex . . . 

Sarah shook her head and closed Bryce’s file before getting up. She only had an hour and a half before Chuck was supposed to pick her up for their date, and she had enough gun grease on her hands that she wanted to shower before she saw him. 

XXX

Through the roar of her blow-dryer, Sarah thought she heard a knock on her door. Checking the small clock on the vanity, she frowned. It was a half-hour before Chuck was due to arrive, and while he was sometimes a few minutes early, this was well beyond early. 

Turning off the appliance, Sarah stepped over to the door and looked through the peephole. She managed to cut off most of her groan before it escaped her lips. The last person in the world that she wanted to see was on the other side of the door. 

Sarah tightened the belt on her robe and then swung the door open. “Bryce, what do you want?”

“That’s some way to greet someone,” he said, stepping into her room and turning towards her. 

“It’s a great way when you’re annoyed with your visitor,” Sarah said, letting the door slam shut as she faced him.

“Sarah, can we try to be adults about this?”

“If there were two adults here, we could be,” Sarah said, arching an eyebrow. And she knew that right now, neither of them were exactly covered in glory, but God damn it, she was still pissed as hell at him. How dare he dump her, personally and professionally, and then come swinging in here and act like they could pick up where they left off? 

Bryce blew out a breath. “Can I apologize for what happened in New York? That lunch . . . I was too harsh. Clearly, I had different expectations during our partnership than you did and when we met in New York, that fact kind of hit me in the face. It took me by surprise and I lashed out.”

She eyed him warily. Unlike earlier, he wasn’t trying to use his baby blues to sway her. His face was earnest, his hands were spread out at his sides, and he had every appearance of a man sincerely apologizing. 

Yet she didn’t buy it. Maybe it was all the time she had spent with Chuck, but she knew what a real, honest apology looked like, and Bryce’s attempt was just that--an attempt. 

But he was trying. And maybe she was just holding Bryce to too high a standard. So slowly, Sarah let out a breath. “So what do you want, Bryce?” she repeated, this time trying to sound less accusatory and more curious. 

“If I end up here, we’ll be working together a lot,” he said, taking a step towards her. “I thought . . . I thought you might be lonely. It’s not like you can talk to Casey and Chuck’s just an asset.” 

Sarah nearly snorted. That hadn’t taken long. Did he think a half-assed apology gave him the keys to the kingdom? 

“That’s very kind of you, Bryce, but I do have a cover relationship with Chuck,” she said. “And the situation here is complicated, so I’m not exactly eager to add another wrinkle to the situation.” 

He took another step towards her. “Like I said, let’s be adults here,” he said. “We’ve always been compatible. Why not keep that avenue open, for those times when we need it?” He gave her a small smile. “You have to admit, we had some good times.” Reaching out, Bryce ran a hand over her cheek, then slid his fingers down her neck to stroke the skin revealed over the collar of her robe. 

The thing was, the charming bastard was right. There had been some good times. Between the sheets, mostly, but . . . but she didn’t know if that was what she wanted. If she had gone off and done a string of missions after she and Bryce broke up, and then ran into him again, she might have given in for one night of hot sex. Because one night was no big deal. 

But now? She couldn’t see it happening. Even if it had been a long time since she had slept with anyone--and the last time she had wasn’t exactly making her all that interested in Bryce’s charms. But he was here and available and willing . . . and she felt so tight inside. So wrapped up in a knot of confusion and disappointment and loneliness, a knot that she was starting to suspect could never be untied or loosened. It was something she was going to carry around for the rest of her life, and if she couldn’t get rid of it, maybe, just maybe she could distract herself from it--

No. No no no no no. That little voice deep down inside was screaming that two-letter word. It broke the spell that Bryce was trying to cast over her. Sarah took a step back. “I’ll think about it,” she said, suddenly wanting to get rid of him as fast as she could. Fast enough that she could have five minutes alone before Chuck showed up, because she had to settle herself enough that the asset who might have real feelings for her wouldn’t realize that something was wrong. 

God, she was such a mess. 

“You need to go,” she said, when Bryce made no move towards the door. “Chuck will be here soon and I need to finish getting ready.” 

“Is something going on between you and Bartowski for real?” Bryce asked, his eyebrows knitting together. “Is that why you’re--” 

“Jesus Christ, Bryce, after fucking up the partnership by fucking you, do you really think I’d fuck my asset?” Sarah said, unable to hold back the words. “Do you know what kind of trouble I’d get into? My degree from Harvard might be mostly fake, but I’m smart enough to not repeat the same mistakes twice. I told you I’d think about it. Now get out.” 

“Fine!” Bryce snapped, his face flushing just slightly in anger. He stomped to the door and stormed out. Sarah followed him if only to lock the door behind him, to give herself that flimsy assurance that he wouldn’t be coming back in. Pressing her back against the wooden door, she slid down to the floor and gave in to the weakness that was taking over her body. The weakness that said she couldn’t deal with all of this and needed to hide for a little while.

XXX

Well, this was cozy. Trapped in a surveillance van with the last two men she had slept with. And Casey. 

Sarah shifted a little in her seat, moving her eyes over the bank of monitors in front of her. Thank God the intel Bryce had brought to Chuck last night had resulted in a flash and an immediate mission. It gave her something to focus on in the midst of all this drama. 

The reappearance of Bryce had thrown Chuck into a fairly impressive tailspin. It dredged up a lot of feelings for him: betrayal, confusion, self-doubt. Watching Chuck go through that made Sarah somewhat grateful that she had shot done Casey’s suggestion of training Chuck. Making him try and be something like a spy could only backfire. 

But more than that, she just wished things could be simpler. That Chuck wasn’t surrounded by people who knew who he really was but couldn’t say anything. That he could have what he wanted with no lies and no secrets. 

This morning, she had taken Chuck out for breakfast so they could talk. 

“I just--I don’t get it. Why did Bryce do this to me, after what happened in college? And he’s a spy! He was a spy for the last two years we were in college!”

“I don’t know, Chuck,” she said, looking at him as she nibbled on some toast. “I don’t understand it, either.” 

Chuck poked his fork into his eggs, not really eating. “Bryce . . . Bryce said that he and you, that the two of you . . . you used to work together.” 

Shit. She hadn’t known that Bryce would tell Chuck that. It was typical Bryce, though--trying to take the upper hand after what had happened in her hotel room last night. 

Part of her wanted to deny what Bryce had said. Or at least try to brush it under the carpet and move on. But when she looked at Chuck, at how his shoulders were slumped and his plate was still full of food, she could sense where his mind was. That Bryce, once again, had something that Chuck wanted. 

It was funny, just how strong the implanted memories in Chuck were. They had such a big impact on him. The Intersect must be more powerful than she realized. 

Reaching out, she rested her hand lightly on his. “Yes. Bryce and I worked together for a while. About a year. But then he left on an undercover assignment without telling me first.” 

“What?!?” Chuck said, his eyes jerking up from his eggs to meet hers. “He did that?” 

She nodded. “Yeah. I found out when I came back from a mission I had been wrapping up on my own. He was gone and there was no way to contact him.” 

His eyes were full of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Sarah. That must have been so hard.” 

“It was . . . but it was also an eye-opener,” she said, shrugging her shoulders a little.

As she hoped, Chuck was so focused on Bryce dumping her as a partner that he didn’t seem to be wondering much about the nature of their partnership--and whether they had a relationship. And Sarah was grateful for that fact. The last thing she needed was more romance in her life. 

After breakfast, they had met Bryce and Casey at Castle and planned tonight’s mission: surveillance on a mansion that was owned by a Fulcrum shell company. According to Bryce’s data, several operatives would be meeting there that evening. If they could identify those individuals as Fulcrum agents, they would set themselves up for several missions of capturing them. 

But it did mean she was in a van with Chuck, Casey and Bryce, feeling strangely edgy at having Chuck to her left and Bryce to her right. It made her wish she could be sitting up front with Casey. 

So far, the mansion they were watching was quiet. There weren’t even more than a handful of lights on inside the sprawling estate. If this meeting was going to happen, they were certainly keeping it under the radar. 

“Sarah?” 

“Yeah, Chuck?” Sarah said softly, keeping her eyes fixed on the monitors. 

“Ellie was asking about--well, we were wondering if you’d like to join us--I mean, if you don’t want to come, it’s okay, but . . .”

She turned her head to look at Chuck, a bit concerned at this level of babbling. To reassure him, she gave him a small smile. “What is it?” 

He took a deep breath, his nervousness clearly evident. “Will you come to Thanksgiving dinner? Ellie’s an amazing cook and it’d be great to have you there.”

God. She couldn’t remember the last time she had the traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Most years, she wasn’t even in the country on Thanksgiving, and being such an American holiday, it was easy to forget about it. And getting to share the day with Chuck and his family and friends . . . it would be nice. 

“I’d love to, Chuck,” she said, her smile widening a little. Chuck had been skittish about asking anything of her since the Payne mission and she had done her best to keep things simple ever since Chuck’s near-miss with a bunker. It had been a while since she had gotten to see him surrounded by the people he loved, and honestly, it was one of the things that she liked to see. To realize that Chuck had these people and this life and it wasn’t fake. It was real. 

“Really?” he said, his face lighting up. 

Had it been so long since they had done something other than the standard dinner and a movie cover date that he didn’t expect her to want to do anything else? 

Sarah nodded. “Yeah, really. It’ll be fun to celebrate Thanksgiving.” 

“Plus, it’s good for the cover,” Bryce said, his voice slightly mocking. 

You could almost see the light go out of Chuck’s eyes, Sarah thought. See how all his hopes were squashed like a bug. It made her want to glare at Bryce, but that would give away too much. So instead, she patted Chuck’s shoulder. “Thank you for the invite. Let me know if I can bring anything.” 

He nodded in distraction as he looked down at the folders of intelligence he had been reviewing while they waited. Sarah turned back to the monitors, feeling annoyed.

A somewhat-strained silence fell over the van for the next few minutes. Then Bryce spoke lightly. “Hey, Sarah? You want to do something after this?” 

What the fuck?

‘Do something’? Did he just seriously ask her that? Because if she knew Bryce, by something he meant did she want to do him later. And it was bad enough that he asked in the middle of a mission, or that he did so in front of Chuck. It was the fact that he did it within earshot of Casey, for Christ’s sake. Was Bryce trying to make her into the Mata Hari of the CIA? Totally ruin her already-shaky reputation? 

“Do . . . do something?” Chuck said, peering around her to look at Bryce. Sarah, trying to find words through her anger, struggled to think of some way to stop this train wreck from happening. But it was too late. 

Bryce shrugged lazily. “No reason for Sarah and me not to pick up where we left off.” 

Shit on a shingle, as her father used to say. She could see Chuck trying to not react, trying to hide what he was feeling. But the problem was, the only way for Chuck to not show his emotions was if he closed his eyes. Because you could always tell what he was feeling by looking into his eyes. 

And right now, he was hurting. A lot. 

Sarah’s hair whipped around her head as she turned to look at Bryce. “I’m sorry, Agent Larkin, but I’m afraid I can’t accept your charming offer. Because if I did, I’d have so much paperwork to fill out, trying to explain why I shot your dick off and then dumped you out of a plane with no parachute from twenty-two thousand feet.” She paused to give him a bright, toothy grin. “I’m sure you understand.” 

That was what she wanted to say. Because that would be so incredibly satisfying. But instead, she somehow managed to rise above his lack of professionalism and say, “I’m not about to ‘pick up where we left off,’ Agent Larkin. Especially not when I’m asked in the middle of a mission that we should all be focusing on.” 

“Here, here,” Casey grunted from the front seat. “Cars coming, by the way. If you three aren’t too busy enacting _The Young and the Clueless_.” 

“Thank you, Major Casey,” she said crisply. Right now, she needed an extra coat of professionalism, needed to do things by the book. She wanted to get this mission over as quickly as possible so she could get out of this goddamn van and be alone and away from all these men. “Agent Larkin, make a note of the cars’ details and take down the license plates. Chuck, see if you flash on anyone as they get out of their cars. Major Casey, keep your eyes open.” 

Something about her tone must have told them all to get to work, because they all did as she said. And for once, the mission went according to plans. 

XXX

As she drove Chuck back to Echo Park after the mission, Sarah felt so tired. Having to keep up the Ice Queen act for the rest of the night had been tough. She hadn’t realized how out of practice she had become. 

Somewhere along the way, she had melted. And she had a suspicion it had a lot to do with the man sitting in the passenger seat. 

Chuck was quiet. Sunk deep into sad moping, she thought. Not that she could blame him. Given his history with Bryce, fake as it was, realizing that Bryce had a connection with her . . . it must be bringing up a lot of bad memories. 

If she had known about this element of his backstory, she could have softened the blow. Told him herself, instead of having to hear it from Bryce. With how Bryce acting as an even more enormous douchebag than normal, she doubted that conversation had been gentle. 

When she pulled into the parking lot, she turned slightly in her seat to look at him. He hadn’t moved since she had stopped the car, so she reached out and lightly rested her hand on his arm. “Chuck?” 

He started and looked at her. “Oh! Sarah. Sorry. I’m sorry. I was just--”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say moping, but she held back. “Lost in thought?” she said instead, her voice quiet. 

His head nodded, a bit jerkily, then he sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry for what happened tonight. I shouldn’t have brought Thanksgiving up then--”

“You did nothing wrong, Chuck. That was all Bryce,” Sarah said, squeezing his arm and making him look at her. 

“I just--I just wanted you to come for Thanksgiving,” he said, gazing at her. “Not because of the cover, but because--I wanted you there. And I hoped that you might want to be there, too.” 

Sarah opened her mouth, but Chuck rushed on. “Bryce was the guy in college who always got the best girls. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you and him were once . . . And I know this is just a job for you, when you’d rather be in Paraguay dealing with revolutions or in Paris attending fancy parties or just anywhere but here. But you seem to like it here a little, and I thought if you could come for Thanksgiving, you’d have a good time.” 

God, his sincerity just killed her sometimes. The fact that in the midst of being incredibly jealous--because his envy of Bryce came through loud and clear in his voice--he could still be thinking of her . . . it just unknotted the tangles inside her. 

And caused new ones to form, but that was something to worry about later.

“You’re right, this is a job,” she said, looking at him. “But . . . but you’re right about it being not just a job.” 

There was more she could say. More she could explain. And there was still the issue of Chuck’s jealousy, an issue she had a bad feeling would flare up before things got better. 

Licking her lips, she spoke again. “You know . . . Bryce will leave at some point. He’ll move on to another assignment and things can go back to normal.” 

“Normal,” Chuck said with a snort. “What’s that?”

She had to laugh a little at that. “Yeah, I wonder about that, too.” She gave him an encouraging smile, trying to get him out of this slump. “I know things don’t look great now, but they’re gonna get better.” She tilted her head, trying to get him to look at her. 

When he finally met her eyes, he looked a bit nervous. “Sarah? Can I--it’s not really my place, but are you going to see Bryce?”

He was right; it wasn’t his place to ask. And normally, this wasn’t something she’d talk about with anyone. Not Carina, not a co-worker, no one. But . . . but it felt different with Chuck asking her. Like he was worried about her. Like he was trying to look out for her. 

“Why do you ask?” she said, curious about his reasons. 

“Because . . . because you’re my friend, and if I see a friend doing something I thought was a mistake, something that might get them hurt, I have a hard time not saying something.” 

It would be so tempting to contemplate Chuck’s words in depth. To parse all the meaning in his sentence, to grapple with just what it might mean. But as tempting as it was, it was even more dangerous. And they had already gone down the slippery slope tonight a lot more than she was comfortable with. So even though she wanted to give him an answer, it didn’t seem right to do so. 

“That . . . that is very thoughtful of you, Chuck,” she said quietly, glancing at him before looking through the windshield. “I’ll think it over. Thanks.” 

For a moment, she thought he might push the issue. Might try to start a discussion. Out of the corner of her eye, she even saw him open his mouth. But then, he pressed his lips together and nodded. “Okay . . . well, if you want to talk . . .”

“I know where to find you,” she said, giving him a half-smile. He returned it and then climbed out of the car. He ducked his head down to look at her through the open window. 

“G’night, Sarah.” 

“Good night, Chuck,” she replied, watching him walk towards his apartment. And hopefully it was just her imagination that Chuck seem sad. 

XXX

As she got ready the morning of Thanksgiving Day, Sarah felt the flutter of nerves. Spending all day with Chuck was enough to make her pay extra attention to her appearance, even though she knew she shouldn’t be acting like this. And telling herself it was really about impressing his family and friends was ridiculous, because for one thing, they all liked her already and she had wasted fifteen minutes deliberating over whether to curl her hair or not. 

No, they had all bought her interest in Chuck from the beginning. Because they saw the sweet, wonderful guy that Chuck was and didn’t think it was at all strange that she was interested in him. 

And the thing was, it was more strange that he was interested in her. Strange that he wanted to be her friend at all, let alone-- 

Giving herself a quick, impatient shake, Sarah finished getting ready and stepped back from the mirror, taking in her appearance. Dark jeans, ankle boots that let her wear her knife holster, and a thick camel-colored sweater, paired with her hair in soft curls and light makeup. That was good for Thanksgiving, right? 

It would have to be. Hoping that she wasn’t under or overdressed, Sarah grabbed the bottle of wine and bouquet of flowers she had bought last night and headed towards the parking garage under her building. The roads were fairly empty at this hour of the morning; in a phone call on Tuesday, Ellie had told Sarah to come over for breakfast and the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade before the day got started. 

“Of course, once the football games start, Devon will commandeer the TV and I’ll be busy in the kitchen. But you and Chuck can spend some time together,” Ellie had said, a teasing tone in her voice. 

Sarah wasn’t sure what was going on with Ellie, but it definitely seemed like she had misunderstood just what a cover relationship meant. Hopefully during the course of today, Sarah would have a chance to speak to Ellie in private and explain that there was nothing going on between them. That Chuck was a great guy, of course, but there was no chance for a relationship between the two of them. 

When she knocked on the door of the Bartowski-Woodcomb apartment, she could hear laughter. It put a smile on her face, one that only got bigger when Chuck opened the door, his curls messy and clearly still wearing what he slept in. 

“Happy Thanksgiving,” she said, peeking in and seeing Devon sitting on the couch. She leaned up and pecked Chuck’s lips, then took a step back. 

“Hey! Happy Thanksgiving,” Chuck said back, grinning and taking the wine from her. “You come bearing wine and flowers. Very smart.” 

“Why?” she asked, stepping inside and sliding her purse off her shoulder. 

“Because Ellie’s gonna need wine by the end of the day, and the flowers are just nice,” Chuck said, his voice low. 

Her forehead wrinkled as she wondered what was going on, especially as, over Chuck’s shoulder, she could see Ellie throw out what looked like a perfectly-cooked turkey. “Did Ellie just . . .?”

“Throw out a perfectly good turkey? Yep. That’s the third one,” Chuck said, a tight smile on his face.

“Four--you weren’t here for one last night,” Devon said. 

What the hell? Ellie was so normal and grounded and . . . _normal_. What had sent her in such a tizzy that she was throwing away turkeys? 

“Devon’s parents came into town as a surprise,” Chuck said. “And the Awesome apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” 

“Oh!” Sarah eyed Ellie again, noticing how she was mumbling to herself. Funny, when she had met Ellie, Sarah had been struck by her resemblance to Carmichael. Now, though, she could see Ellie’s connection to Chuck. 

“Yeah,” Chuck said. “But it’s gonna be fine, we’re gonna stage an intervention in a few minutes. Convince her to calm down.” He rested a hand lightly on Sarah’s back and turned towards the kitchen. “Hey, El, look who’s here!” 

Why did the thought of facing Basque terrorists suddenly seem safer? 

XXX

As she waited for Chuck to come back to the table, Sarah sipped her wine slowly. She could only have one glass, so she was doing her best to make hers last. Although given this day, she wished she wasn’t on duty. 

It was just . . . weird. Acting like a normal girl. Trying to make small talk with Devon’s parents, who were, as advertised, awesome. It was easier with Devon, since he was so good-natured and she could talk a little about some of the extreme sports he enjoyed. When she got drawn into a conversation with Devon and his father about sports, or when Ellie came to her for help in settling an argument with Mrs. Woodcomb about the amount of sage in the stuffing, it was all so strange to her. So unfamiliar. 

At least Morgan’s arrival with his girlfriend Anna took some of the pressure off, if only because Anna’s blatant jealousy over Ellie, Morgan’s former crush, drew attention away from Sarah. When Chuck leaned in and explained the history between his sister and best friend by whispering in her ear, stirring hairs on her neck, it was all she could do not to shiver. 

Feeling all this warmth and happiness in this apartment, feeling like a lot of it was generated by him . . . it mixed her up. Made her realize just how unsuited she was for anything other than the life she had. And that realization was like a bucket of cold water being poured over her. 

She would never have this kind of life. She had never thought it was possible, from her earliest days, so she had never tried to get it. Joining the CIA was a pretty clear way to forgo an ordinary life . . . but it was a decision made by a scared seventeen-year-old girl facing life on her own. Was it any wonder that she took Graham’s offer, that she was swayed by the possibility of creating a new life for herself with a new name? 

But just who was Sarah Walker? Shouldn’t she know that? 

The sound of Chuck’s footsteps, ones that she could have picked out in the middle of a dance club with a pounding sound system, broke her out of her thoughts. She looked up at him, pasting a smile on her face as he dropped down into his chair. “Hey, I was about to send out a search party--” 

The look on his face made her clamp her lips together. Because Chuck did not look happy. In fact, he looked mad. Maybe not as mad as when he found out about the Intersect, but he was definitely upset and frustrated and annoyed.

Since the conversation was focused at the other end of the dinner table, with Morgan and Anna and something about tartar sauce, Chuck’s attitude hadn’t drawn any notice. Narrowing her eyes, she gave him a look that asked what was going on with him. 

Chuck looked at her for a long moment. Then, with barely any sound coming from his mouth, he said, “Bryce Larkin is in my bedroom.”

Of all the fucking-- Of course the bastard was in Chuck’s room during Thanksgiving dinner. What could be more dick-like than interrupting an event to which he hadn’t been invited and risking Chuck’s cover? 

“Excuse me,” she said, setting aside her napkin and rising to her feet. Then she stalked back to Chuck’s room, stepping inside and glaring at Bryce. “What are you doing here, Bryce?” she hissed.

Bryce faced her. “I needed to talk to you.” 

“Then meet me at my hotel room in an hour,” Sarah said, taking Bryce by the shoulder and moving him towards the Morgan door. 

“After the greeting I got the last time? No, thanks,” Bryce said, pulling loose of her grip and looking at her. “C’mon, Sarah, you don’t have to do this.” 

Sarah arched an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Put up these walls. Act like you don’t want me.” Bryce gazed at her, his eyes searching hers, blue meeting blue. “Act like you don’t still love me.” 

If she was smart, she’d be scoffing right now. Trying to break the spell that Bryce was casting over her. But . . . but she wasn’t that smart. Because he was right. She had put up walls, as soon as she found out about that solo assignment. Going numb and emotionless was easier to deal with than feeling the anger. The disappointment. The sadness. The rejection. 

Actually considering Bryce’s offer was crazy. She’d be fucking certifiable if she gave in to him, now, with Chuck in the other room and his whole family here. But here was Bryce, willing and able. Offering her a simple connection, without questions or drama, with someone who understood what it was like to be a spy. 

As if sensing her lowering resistance, Bryce moved towards her. “Sarah, it was the biggest mistake of my life, leaving you. I want us to start over.” His hands softly cupped her face, his skin soft and smooth against hers.

Watching his face move towards hers, Sarah tensed, almost bracing herself. She should want this. Want Bryce. He knew her, they had a connection, she knew what to expect . . . she wouldn’t be surprised or confused. She could be in control. 

So she let him bring his lips to hers. And for a moment, she closed her eyes and let herself forget who was kissing her and just focus on their lips. 

It was good, she supposed. Bryce had always been a very competent kisser. He didn’t jam his tongue down her throat, didn’t nip too hard. He was almost coaxing her and she let him do it, let her mouth fall open and her hands grip his leather jacket. 

But all too soon, she was thinking. About how his taste was slightly off-putting, about how his hands were going places too fast. She wasn’t swept away into a swirl of emotion and passion, like she had been with Carmichael--

Yanking back, Sarah sucked in a breath. Bryce looked at her, his eyes narrowed. “I guess you’ve still got it,” she said, looking at him and resisting the urge to wipe her hand over her mouth. 

“And so do you,” Bryce said. “But you don’t feel it.” He shook his head. “Something’s happened from the last time I kissed you.” 

“You mean other than you taking a deep cover assignment without telling me first?” The anger was coming through, pure and hot and clean. It pushed aside the simplicity of giving in to Bryce. If she did that, if she took the easy route . . . she would lose something. Some piece of herself that she didn’t really know yet--a piece she wasn’t ready to give up to someone like Bryce. 

Sarah closed her eyes for a moment, feeling her anger drain away. She didn’t need it anymore. This whole mess with Bryce, she was over it. Now she wouldn’t take him back for anything. 

“This won’t work, Bryce,” she said quietly, looking at him levelly. “I think we should stop fooling ourselves.” 

Bryce nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He gave her a small, rueful smile. “Too bad. We were good together.” 

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she wanted to be with someone she could be great with. Someone who valued her and cared for her, someone who admired her and would always be there for her. 

She had never really thought about trying to juggle her job and a relationship. Certainly not since her partnership with Bryce broke down. But . . . but someday, she’d like to try. To at least know if it was possible, if she was cut out for something like that. Was that something she had learned because of Bryce . . . or was it Chuck? 

Giving her head a shake, she gestured towards the Morgan door. “You should go. I need to get back to the dinner.” 

“Yeah,” Bryce said, turning towards the full-length window. But he paused, one foot on the windowsill. “It’s funny.” 

“What is?”

“I knew Carmichael in training,” Bryce said, looking over at her. When Sarah nodded in acknowledgement, remembering how Bryce had mentioned that, he went on. “He was good. Really, really, good,” Bryce said. “He made me feel like I was all thumbs, especially when I--”

For some reason, Bryce stopped talking for a moment. Then he huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “It’s crazy, but Chuck is the same way, you know? He makes you feel like you’re not nearly as good as you thought you were.” 

His words felt like a blow to the gut. She licked her lips and spoke quietly. “Yeah, he’s like that.” 

There was a long moment when they just looked at each other. When their similarities brought them together in contemplation of the man they knew. And there wasn’t anything more to be said. 

“Say goodbye to Chuck for me. I’ll tell Graham that I’m not interested in joining the team.” 

“I will,” Sarah said, but if Bryce heard her he didn’t show it. He was too busy climbing out the window and walking away. 

Slowly, Sarah let herself sink down onto Chuck’s bed. She had been in here too long; she should go out and rejoin everyone. But she couldn’t go yet. She needed a moment. A chance to recover and school her expression before she did so. 

Because it was like the ground had shifted under her feet and it would take her some time to get back to where she was supposed to be.

XXX

“So Agent Larkin did not work out then?” 

“No, sir,” Sarah said, her hands clasped in front of her. “He decided that this assignment was not for him.” 

Graham harrumphed. “We are concerned by the increased risks being placed upon Operation Bartowski, due to the pressure exerted by Fulcrum. Agent Larkin could have provided additional security for Bartowski.”

“Perhaps it’s time to train Bartowski,” Casey said, standing at attention beside her. “He’s eager and he should know how to defend himself.”

“I’m not sure about that,” General Beckman said, her voice highly doubtful. “The whole point of the implanted personality was for the Intersect to be hidden in plain sight in a civilian.” 

“I agree with General Beckman, although we will take it under advisement. Please consult with Dr. Woodcomb for her opinion on your suggestion, Major Casey,” Graham said. He had that ‘my mind is made up’ tone to his voice, but Sarah was unable to determine just what he had decided. 

“In the meanwhile, exercise extra caution, agents. The loss of Mr. Bartowski at this stage would be disastrous.” 

“Yes, General,” Casey said, sounding slightly disgruntled. Well, more disgruntled than normal. 

Beckman nodded and hit a button, making the screens go black. Casey grunted. “Nice of you to back me up, Walker.” 

“I told you I didn’t think it was a good idea,” Sarah said, shuffling the folders of overnight intelligence reports. “Where’s Chuck?” 

Casey shrugged. “Said he wanted some coffee.” 

Frowning, she looked at her watch. “He should have been here fifteen minutes ago. I’m going to go check on him.” Without waiting for Casey to say anything, Sarah headed for the staircase, taking them two at a time as she hurried out of Castle.

When she reached the parking lot of the strip mall, her eyes swept the acres of asphalt, searching for Chuck. She felt a wave of relief when she spotted him, standing outside the Buy More and clutching a paper cup. He looked lost in thought. That seemed to be happening to him a lot lately. Not that Chuck wasn’t an introspective guy, but he seemed like he was wrestling with something. 

Crossing the blacktop, she caught up with him before he had moved into the Buy More. “Chuck?” As she got closer, she could see his wrinkled forehead and narrowed eyes. 

“Hey, Sarah,” he said, sounding a bit sad. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, hearing the concern in her voice. 

“Bryce isn’t staying,” he said. He shifted. “I’m sorry, Sarah.” 

“How do you know that?” But even as she said it, she knew. The arrogant bastard must have hung around to tell Chuck he was leaving, contrary to his words on Thanksgiving about Sarah telling Chuck goodbye for him. And he’d probably also stayed to make Chuck feel guilty for Bryce’s decision, which had nothing to do with him. 

Chuck lifted the paper cup in his hand. “He brought me coffee. Just how I liked it in college: no cream and four sugars.” He gave her a wan smile. “It’s more sugary than I remembered it being.” 

“What did he say?” she asked, looking up at Chuck. Trying to read his expression, trying to know how to make this right. 

Shrugging his shoulders, Chuck sighed. “Just that he realized I was already in good hands--the best hands, actually. And that you didn’t want him around.” 

That was accurate, but Sarah had the feeling that Chuck was leaving something out. Something he just couldn’t talk about. For someone like Chuck, who seemed to talk about everything, it must have really hit close to home for him. 

“It’s true that having Bryce around made things complicated,” Sarah said. 

“I told Bryce that if he wanted to stay, I wouldn’t get in the way.” Chuck looked at her, then took a quick swallow of his coffee. “I just mean, you and Bryce . . . you’d be something together. If you both wanted that.” 

Watching him be eaten up with jealousy, with unanswered questions, made her stomach drop. She didn’t like seeing him like this. Feeling like he had to sacrifice something yet again, when he had already given up so much. So she reached out and took the coffee from him. 

“Hey, what are you doing, Sarah?” he asked in confusion as she dumped the coffee into a nearby trash can. 

“I’m going to get you some real coffee--coffee that you like. And . . . and I’ll explain that Bryce leaving is nothing you should feel guilty about. Because believe me, I gave Bryce enough evidence that he wasn’t welcome here.” 

“You really didn’t want him to stay?” Chuck said, sounding more hopeful with each word. 

Sarah gave him a small smile. “Not even a little bit. Not anymore.” 

He grinned back at her, a grin that made his nose wrinkle and the corners of his eyes turn up. “Yeah?” 

“Oh, yeah. Let me tell you what I was thinking when Bryce asked me to ‘do something later’ when we were all in that surveillance van . . .” 

And as they crossed the parking lot towards the little coffee shop they had all become addicted to, as Sarah told Chuck what she had wanted to say and as Chuck laughed and made some joke about how she was awesome yet terrifying, Sarah felt good. Like something had changed. Because up until now, Carina was the closest thing she had to a friend. But the reality was, Chuck was her friend. 

And although that was probably even more dangerous than sleeping with him, having Chuck Bartowski was her friend was too much fun to give up. 

End, Chapter 9


	10. Chapter 10

To Sarah’s complete lack of surprise, Graham and Beckman decided it wasn’t wise to train Chuck at this point. Even though Ellie had said it wouldn’t have a negative impact on his brain--and would probably help him manage his stress and improve his physical conditioning--the bosses were worried about blowing Chuck’s cover. 

While she could understand that, it didn’t mean she was all that happy with how Graham and Beckman decided to handle the situation. Because they were insisting that another agent be tasked to Operation Bartowski to help with Chuck’s safety. All of the arguments raised by Casey and herself against such a plan fell on deaf ears. 

“We’ll begin searching for an acceptable agent to read into Operation Bartowski, although with the security concerns, it might take some time,” Graham said.

Then why bother, since it would take a while to find another agent and then they’d only need him or her for six months? Frankly, it made Sarah think that Graham and Beckman were feeling out of the loop and this was their way of exerting control. Inserting someone who’d be watching her and Casey and reporting back to the bosses. 

Sarah tapped a pen against the mission briefing paperwork--the other reason for today’s conference with Graham and Beckman. They were to find a Fulcrum agent who had raided a CIA dumpsite. The intel was spotty at best: all they had was a video still of the Fulcrum operative, taken from a surveillance camera at the dump site. Hopefully, once Casey got back with Chuck from the Buy More, the Intersect would give them a direction to start working.

Footsteps, one heavy and one light, alerted her to the arrival of Chuck and Casey. She turned, wondering idly just how Chuck could have such a heavy tread when he was wearing sneakers.

“A new mission already?” Chuck asked as he approached the conference area. “I would have thought espionage slows down at this time of year, just like everything else.” 

“Holidays are for civilians,” Casey grunted.

Chuck looked worried. “Do you think I’ll have to miss Christmas? I don’t know what I’d tell Ellie.” 

“Don’t worry, Chuck, we’ll do everything possible to let you spend Christmas with your family,” Sarah said, giving him a small smile. “But it’s still three and a half weeks away and a lot can happen in that amount of time. Have a seat and see if you can tell us anything about this man.” 

Once Chuck had taken a seat--they had learned the hard way that Chuck wasn’t very steady on his feet during or after flashing--she passed him the printout of the suspect. He had barely looked at it before his eyes rolled back in his head and he looked vaguely queasy. 

By now she was used to seeing Chuck flash, but it hadn’t gotten easier to watch. 

“Oh, oh--that was a big one.” Chuck rubbed his forehead, his eyes barely opened. “Cole Barker, formerly MI-6 and now part of Fulcrum. They sent him to the dump site to retrieve information hidden on the body of a former CIA agent. The intel is in a belt buckle.” He took a few breaths and then looked at Sarah. “So ‘dump site’ is code for cemetery?” 

“Kinda,” Sarah said distractedly, looking at Casey and bracing herself. She could just guess what kind of plan he would come up with.

And he didn’t disappoint. “So you’re gonna have to get his belt off, eh, Walker? Wonder how you’re gonna do that. You feeling like stripper or hooker?” 

“Thank you, Casey, for that valuable contribution to planning this mission,” Sarah said, glaring at him. “How about some other ideas?” 

“Could always just take him out,” Casey said, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. “No muss, no fuss.”

“Other than the person you killed,” Chuck said, sounding horrified. 

Well, Casey was in a mood, if he was baiting both her and Chuck. “I was thinking we could set up some video surveillance in his room. I could go in as housekeeping to look for the belt. Perhaps while he’s showering.” 

Casey let out a snarky grunt but stayed silent otherwise. She raised an eyebrow at him. “Any problems with that, Major Casey?”

“Guess not, if that’s how you wanna play it,” Casey said. 

“It is,” Sarah said. Going the seduction route was never her first choice. Yeah, she was damn attractive, but it got to a point where she was tired of being seen as only a pair of tits. And frankly, from the look of Barker, she’d rather face him with several knives and a gun available to her--and the get-ups she wore on seduction jobs never had enough coverage for that amount of firepower. 

Besides, she had seen how Chuck had looked when Casey was teasing her. Like he was ready to open his mouth and call Casey on being a jerk. And while it was sweet of him to defend her honor like that, she didn’t need it--she was perfectly capable of defending herself. 

And furthermore, she did not feel a flush of pleasure at the thought of Chuck attempting to defend her honor. Not at all. 

XXX

Sarah leaned back in her chair, watching Cole Barker on the two-way video monitor with narrowed eyes. Her arms were folded over her chest, partly because she was annoyed and partly because he had been eyeing her chest more than she was comfortable with. 

After two close calls while trying her housekeeping op, Sarah had been forced to follow Casey’s suggestion. Not stripper or hooker, thank God. Instead, it was a matter of using her wiles and flirting with Barker in the bar of his hotel until he invited her up to his room. Once she had incapacitated Barker, she’d get the belt and get out of there. 

However, no mission ever went according to plans. And this one sure hadn’t. Barker had made her pretty quickly--and that was something she’d be thinking about a lot until she figured out why--and had tried to turn the tables on her. Came on strong and got her dress off and halfway to sex before she could come up with a way to stop him. She managed to fight him off and draw her gun on him, just in time for Casey and Chuck to come stomping into the room. 

It wasn’t the first time she had apprehended an enemy agent while wearing just a bra and panties. But the fact that Chuck was there made her feel strangely self-conscious. She couldn’t get her dress back on fast enough. 

One gunfight later and it was revealed that Barker was actually not Fulcrum, but a double agent. They had blown a meet with his Fulcrum contacts and Barker should have been pissed. But instead, according to the video feed from the holding cell he was currently located in, he was sitting with an inscrutable expression on his face, a small smile quirking his lips. Meanwhile, in the conference area, Graham and Beckman were arguing with each other. 

“MI-6 is rather peeved at blowing Agent Barker’s cover. They’re expecting concessions from us,” Beckman said. “Why not read him in to this operation?” 

“There’s granting concessions and then there’s giving MI-6 too much,” Graham countered. “Agent Barker needs to be vetted thoroughly and evaluated to see how well he works with the members of Operation Bartowski before there’s any talk about more. In the meantime, the team can assist him in completing his mission objectives.” 

Sarah knew that left unsaid was Operation Bartowski taking advantage of picking up more info about Fulcrum. And it would be a welcome opportunity to learn more about Fulcrum from someone who had been actively working with the organization. But she doubted that Barker would be that obliging. 

And she wasn’t feeling very eager to have him around all the time, to be honest. He might be a good agent--he certainly held his own during that gun battle on the roof of his hotel. But he seemed to think he was the next coming of James Bond, right down to the accent and ladykiller ways, and Sarah had gotten quite enough of that type of man between Bryce and the other male agents she had worked with over the years. 

“Fine,” Beckman said, drawing the argument to a close. “Major Casey, Agent Walker, Mr. Bartowski. You will assist Agent Barker in his mission against Fulcrum. Of course, we won’t be turning over accurate intelligence to Fulcrum. At the same time, you will attempt to learn what Agent Barker knows about Fulcrum by gaining his trust.” 

Thanks to years of training and a great amount of willpower, Sarah held back her snort. She could just imagine how the bosses expected Barker’s trust to be earned--and by whom. No intelligence agency would ever come right out and say they expected an agent to use sex to get intel or secure an asset. But given the amount of latitude that agents had to get the job done, and the fact that there was an unofficial ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy relating to such matters . . . well, Sarah knew it happened. She wouldn’t ever do it, of course, but that was a fact she kept to herself, for times like this. 

Casey leaned back in his chair after Beckman and Graham signed off. “Hope we don’t get saddled with this guy.” 

“Why not?” Chuck asked, his eyes flicking to Sarah’s before returning to Casey. 

“He’s an annoying bastard,” Casey said succinctly. “And you can’t punch the people you work with.” 

“Most of the time,” Sarah said, smirking a little at Casey. “I’ve heard stories about you, Major Casey.” 

“There were extenuating circumstances that time with Haley,” Casey said, pointing his finger at her. 

“I know,” she said. “I was talking about the time with Grayson.” 

“Oh, yeah, that was ‘cause he’s an asshole,” Casey grunted. 

Chuck’s eyes went a bit wide and he shook his head in confusion. “But Agent Barker seems so--so--so cool!” 

Sarah exchanged a look with Casey, one that practically screamed “civilians.” Of course Chuck would think Barker was cool--but spies like Barker made spies like her and Casey feel like punching him. Then she turned to Chuck. “Agent Barker is an unknown variable to us, as ‘cool’ as he may seem. So be on your guard. And remember to do your best to conceal anything about the Intersect from him. If Barker asks, you’re an analyst.” She stood up and smoothed down her dress, wishing the skirt was a bit longer. 

He nodded. “I know. What happens now?”

“Now we help out Barker and find out what he knows about Fulcrum, without revealing anything we don’t want him to know,” Sarah said. 

“Does that really work?” Chuck asked, his forehead wrinkled. “I mean, how can you get something without giving something in return?” 

Casey snickered. “That’s where Walker comes in.” 

Chuck flushed. “Oh.” 

“Enough, Casey,” she said, her voice a bit harsh. “I’m bringing Barker out here and we’ll tell him what’s going on. But no more innuendo or we’ll be talking about extenuating circumstances.” She glared at him, almost daring him to try something. 

Fortunately for him, Casey just grunted and held up his hands. “Fine.” 

Turning on her heel, she headed to the holding cells. The warning was most likely unnecessary; Casey knew enough to keep his remarks within the team. With Barker here, he’d probably be on good behavior. But it didn’t hurt to remind him that she would only let him go so far. 

As she approached his cell, Barker stood up, sliding his hands into his pockets. His mouth twisted into a half-smirk, half-smile. Bracing herself, she tapped on the panel to unlock and open the door. 

“Agent Walker,” he said, nodding to her. “Or can I call you Sarah? That’s what the lanky fellow called you.” 

“Agent Walker is fine, Agent Barker,” she said crisply. “If you’ll come with me, we’ll let you know what’s going to happen.” She gestured for him to step out of the cell. 

“Other than my dreams coming true if you’d agree to have dinner with me?” 

If she had ever seen a James Bond movie, she’d expect to hear something like that. She let out a soft, disdainful laugh. “Has that line ever worked?”

“Frequently,” Barker said, running his eyes up and down her body. “But never on a woman as lovely as you.” 

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, trying to figure him out. Would he keep pressing if she brushed him off? Yes, it seemed likely. Would he drop it if she gave him a firm denial? She doubted it. She could threaten him with bodily harm, but she suspected he’d see it as a challenge and increase the pressure. 

God damn it, men were annoying sometimes. Or at least, the wrong men were. If the right man was saying these things to her, gazing at her with big, brown eyes, she’d probably be melting. 

Since maiming Barker would probably be frowned upon, even though it would feel incredibly satisfying, Sarah went for a middle-of-the-road option. “Agent Barker, let’s keep this professional.” 

“We could have dinner in my hotel room and talk about work. That would be professional.” He gave her what could objectively be said was a charming grin. But Sarah found it too practiced for her liking. 

“I don’t think so, Agent Barker,” she said, stepping into the conference area and sitting down at the table. “Let’s review what your mission was.” 

“Before you Yanks interrupted?” he said, dropping down into a chair across from hers and next to Casey. Chuck was already sitting up straight, looking at Barker with an expression Sarah could only describe as envious. She frowned a little and made a mental note to keep an eye on this. 

“You mean, when we pulled your fat out of the fire?” Casey said. 

Barker shrugged his shoulders elegantly. “I suppose it could be seen like that. I’ve been in deep cover for nearly a year now, tasked by my agency with halting Fulcrum’s spread. I raided that CIA dump site under orders from Fulcrum and tonight I was to pass that intel to them.” 

“Just like that?” Casey asked, one eyebrow cocked.

“Pretty much,” Barker said. “MI-6 was taking a slow and steady approach to eliminating Fulcrum. Not so much flash as you lot, but more substance.”

Ignoring the pointed insult, Sarah leaned forward slightly. “So you just need to get the data to Fulcrum to stay in their good graces?”

“Yes--well, and explain how my contact got killed in a firefight with the CIA and NSA.”

Just turning over the data to Fulcrum might be all that was required, but Sarah sensed he wasn’t telling them something. Getting the intel to Fulcrum might be what he wanted to do now, but it wouldn’t be enough to protect his cover. No, they needed to do more. Get more bang for their buck.

“Couldn’t we do more?”

It was strange enough that someone was voicing her thoughts. But the fact that it was Chuck made Sarah blink. He didn’t have a great track record when it came to thinking like a spy, with losing his cool around Bryce and doing just what Carina wanted without questioning it. 

“Like what, send Fulcrum a fruit basket, too?” Casey asked sarcastically.

Chuck’s ears went a dull red, but then adding to the surprise, Barker said, “Like what, Chuck?” His voice was encouraging, his gaze focused on Chuck’s face.

She could see his Adam’s apple bob as Chuck swallowed. “W-well, what is the data on? A flash drive?”

Barker nodded. “Hidden inside the buckle.”

“Then I could--I could write a program. A trojan horse, one that we could load on the flash drive. And whenever Fulcrum accessed the intel on the drive, the program would scan the computer and send data to us.”

His voice grew steadier as he went on. “It could even scan any other computers on the network and send that data, too. You could find out everything Fulcrum is planning, everything they know, and they’d have no idea.”

“You can do that?” Sarah asked, feeling awed. She knew Chuck bordered on being a genius and that he must work at the Buy More because he liked computers, but still--even to someone like her who knew nothing about computers, this plan sounded impressive. Really, really impressive.

Barker seemed to think so, too. “if you can do that in twenty-four hours, the slate is clean.” 

Casey grunted softly. “Shoulda pushed harder to train you, Bartowski.”

Sarah saw Barker’s eyebrows raise for a moment, as he clearly filed away Casey’s remark. But instead, he said, “I’ll contact Fulcrum and give them an explanation for what happened.”

“Okay, good,” Sarah said. She turned to Chuck. “Do you need anything to write this program?”

“Just a computer and some other equipment I can get from the Buy More,” he said, a newfound confidence in his voice. “Oh, and the flash drive, Agent Barker.”

“Please, call me Cole,” Barker said, undoing his belt and handing it over to Chuck. “Now, where can I get a secure, untraceable line around here?”

As Casey lead Barker off, Sarah looked at Chuck. He had opened up the buckle and started examining the flash drive, muttering softly to himself. She could see how his shoulders weren’t as slumped as normal. He was engaged and focused. It was like he was happy to be doing something other than just using the Intersect. 

Maybe Casey was right, as annoying as it was to admit to herself. Clearly, Chuck’s tech skills were valuable. But he hadn’t really gotten much chance to use them. Maybe whatever reservations she had about training Chuck weren’t as important as giving him some confidence, some self-belief. Even if it didn’t really matter in the long run, it’d be nice to see what a confident, happy Chuck looked like. 

XXX

For his own security, Barker had decided to stay in Castle until they could hand over the flash drive tomorrow evening. Which meant that either Sarah or Casey would have to stay in Castle while Barker was here. And when she lost the coin flip with Casey over who would take the night shift, Sarah wondered if she’d have any luck at all if she didn’t have bad luck. 

She looked up from the papers she was sorting as Casey dragged Chuck past the conference table. “Casey, I’m fine, I still need to keep working on the program--” 

“You said you were done,” Casey said. 

“There’s still testing and I’m not happy with one of the subroutines, it could be a lot more elegant and efficient, and I’m pretty sure another subroutine is full of bugs and if I could at least see what I’m facing . . .” Chuck’s voice trailed off as Casey and Sarah both gave him blank looks. He rubbed a hand over his face. “I just don’t think I should go home. I didn’t get nearly as much done today as I hoped and we’ve only got sixteen hours. I shouldn’t waste it on sleeping.” 

“It’s past one, Chuck,” Sarah said. “If you found mistakes, don’t you risk making more in trying to fix the first errors?” 

“I suppose so,” he said, equal parts sheepish and stubborn. “But if you just got me some Red Bull, I’d be good to go.” 

“Ellie said that stuff wasn’t good for you,” Sarah said, remembering his sister’s rant about the evil power of energy drinks, especially on him. 

Chuck pouted. It would be a devastating expression if he didn’t look so exhausted. “Now you’re both ganging up on me?” 

“Take him home, Casey,” Sarah said with a grin. “I better not see you before nine a.m., Bartowski, or else.” 

He opened his mouth to protest, but a yank from Casey shut him up. Sarah’s grin widened for a moment, watching as Casey dragged Chuck out, then she went back to her paperwork. 

A hush fell over Castle, broken only by the soft hum of the computers and the lights. Occasionally she glanced up at the video monitors, checking on Barker. She was just about ready to wrap up and turn in herself when her check of the screens revealed an empty cell. Before she had done more than stand up, she heard the soft patter of footsteps approaching as Barker walked into the conference area. 

Well, she knew what he was after, Sarah thought dryly as she took in his boxer briefs and white tank top. She lifted an eyebrow and focused on his face. “Something wrong with your clothes, Agent Barker?” 

“Just trying to minimize the time I spend in the same clothes, Agent Walker. I’m sure you understand that.” His eyes flicked over her, taking in what she had changed into: a pair of gray yoga pants and the hooded sweatshirt she wore when she was working in the Orange Orange. “You look just as amazing dressed like that as you did in a sexy dress.” 

Settling back into her chair, she shot him a look. “Agent Barker, I’m trying to figure out how I can get you to stop hitting on me.” 

“There’s always dinner,” he said, resting his hands on the table and leaning forward. “Or just come with me to Tahiti for a few days once we wrap up this mission.”

“Do you really think I’d leave my assignment like that? Leave only one agent to protect Chuck?”

“What is the story on Bartowski, anyway?” Barker asked, his forehead wrinkled. “Most of the time you treat him like an asset, but then there’s moments when it’s like he’s an analyst, or even a field agent.”

She should have expected him to eventually question Chuck’s status. Because Barker was right: assets definitely didn’t go out into the field, and analysts almost never did. But since there was no way to tell Barker the real story about Chuck--or even his cover story--she instead said, “Mr. Bartowski is a special case.” 

“If you lot aren’t looking to turn him into an agent, you’re blind. His idea about infecting Fulcrum’s computers with a virus is brilliant.”

“As you know, the bosses don’t always agree with us,” Sarah said lightly.

“Thus explaining that remark of Major Casey’s,” Barker said, straightening up as he eyed her appraisingly. “How do you feel about that, Agent Walker?”

Where was he driving with this? Sarah did her best to make her face neutral. “At first, I wasn’t in favor of it. But recently, I’ve begun to reconsider.” 

“Hmm,” Barker said. “Not surprising. You couldn’t seem to keep your eyes off of Bartowski--you must have seen how he lit up like a firecracker when I listened to his idea.” 

Sarah wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that Barker was accusing her of not realizing what Chuck needed or the fact that he was accusing her of not taking her eyes off Chuck. Which evil was the lesser of the two options as a way to get Barker to leave her alone but also leave Chuck alone? 

“Chuck has a lot of potential,” she said after a moment. “I think he possibly could be a fine agent someday. But he’d have to learn a lot.” 

“He’d be a damn good agent now, with just a bit of training and encouragement.” Barker shrugged. “But we have a different perspective in my organization. And you’re probably a little too close to the subject to be objective.” 

In an underground spy base full of weapons, he was going to keep pushing her buttons? Fine. Even though it’d be very satisfying to stick one of her knives through his hand--or some other appendage--Sarah chose a different tack.

Standing up, she walked around the table towards him. “And you think you’re objective enough to know what I want?” She gave him a small smile, tilting her head down and looking up at him through her eyelashes. 

A split second flash of confusion appeared in his eyes before he resumed his act. “I just hate to see a beautiful woman, hidden away and pining over someone who can’t give her what she wants, what she needs.” 

“You’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart,” she said, moving even closer to him. 

Barker cleared his throat. “Yes, exactly.” 

“And I suppose that you think I need a wild night of passion with you in your hotel room? You and me, naked and sweaty and writhing together, doing things to each other that are illegal in even uncivilized countries?” She pitched her voice to a low and sultry tone, using every trick she had learned over the years. Everything she had discovered about men and how to compel them to want you, even when their brains were telling them that something was very, very wrong here. 

And like every man she’d ever tried this on, Barker fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. 

“I do,” he breathed out, his eyes dark. 

She stepped up and rested her hand on his forearm. “Good,” she purred. 

As fast as lightning, she gripped his arm and twisted it up behind his back, while using her other hand to push him down against the table and pin him. “Too bad for you that I can’t turn you down nicely,” she said, using her weight on his shoulders to hold him down. “Not after how you wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Now are you gonna leave me alone? Or am I going to have to start spreading stories about what piece of you I had to cut off in order to get you to stop hitting on a fellow agent?”

Instead of waiting for him to throw her off, Sarah released him and stepped back, smoothing down her clothes. She watched as Barker pushed himself up and turned to face her. On instinct, her hand went to her lower back, where she had a knife tucked against her skin. 

Thankfully, Barker just gave her a lopsided grin and then held his hands up in the air. “Understood, Agent Walker. You can’t blame a bloke for trying, although it would appear I went too far.” 

“I don’t exactly pull out wrestling moves for normal brush-offs,” Sarah said, arching an eyebrow. 

“Pax, Agent Walker, pax.” He nodded to her. “We’ll keep this professional. If you don’t mind me saying, though, I do hope Mr. Bartowski can continue providing assistance. I’m curious to see what he can do.” 

“Other than finishing his program, I don’t see what else he’ll be able to help with,” Sarah said, eyeing Barker as she gathered up her files. “And I have every confidence in Chuck’s computer abilities.” 

“We’ll see who’s right, then,” Barker said, before turning on his heel and walking back towards the holding cells. 

Was this some kind of contest? She hoped not. Not just because Chuck wasn’t some pawn to be won or lost. But also because in spite of what she thought she had with Chuck, Sarah wasn’t sure if she’d win against someone who believed so readily in Chuck without needing to worry about his safety. 

XXX

The next morning found Sarah feeling grouchy. She had spent over an hour tossing and turning before she fell asleep. Given the hour she had to be up, it meant there wasn’t enough coffee in the world to make up for the lack of sleep. But it wasn’t the first time she had gone with little sleep. Although it was perhaps the first time she had lost sleep due to thinking. 

Why the hell had she reacted like that with Barker? Sure, he was annoying, but no more so than dozens of male agents she had interacted with over the years. But for some reason, this time was different. Not just because she had retaliated against him, but because of how she felt. Having him hit on her, knowing he was mentally undressing her . . . it made her sick to her stomach. Made her feel like a piece of meat. It was one thing to feel that way as part of a mission, in order to secure a piece of intelligence or provide a distraction for other agents. But when she was working with a fellow agent on something other than a field op? She didn’t have to take that--and she wouldn’t. After years of keeping her emotions behind her mask, Sarah just couldn’t do it anymore. 

And she was pretty sure it was because of Chuck. 

Even with all the warnings she had given herself, even with knowing that this couldn’t last . . . she had let Chuck in. And by letting him in, he had started to change her. Make her see the world differently, make her want things that she had never wanted before--that she wouldn’t get to have. 

This was the last thing she should be thinking of right now. There was still the mission with Barker to complete, she was in the middle of Castle, and it wasn’t the time to be thinking about how she might feel about Chuck. 

Coffee. She needed coffee. 

Sarah had just started the coffeemaker when a voice behind her made her whirl around. “Good morning, Sarah.” 

“Chuck!” she yelped, shocked that she hadn’t heard him. So shocked that she actually said that. “You surprised me. Normally I can hear you coming from a mile away.” 

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I know.” He held a paper cup out to her. “Coffee?” 

“You are awesome,” she said, taking it and swallowing a large gulp, almost without tasting it. “Mmm. Thank you.” 

His ears were a bit red as he nodded. “Cole, I mean, Agent Barker, he mentioned that I have a heavy tread. He gave me some advice on how to lighten my footsteps.” 

“Did he?” Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Chuck nodded. “Yeah. He’s pretty cool.” 

It was an understatement to say she was skeptical of Barker’s interest in Chuck. She was downright wary. It was tempting to warn Chuck, to tell him to be on his guard. But . . . but he seemed so eager to learn. So happy that someone was showing him how he could become better. And it was kind of annoying, hearing him clump down the stairs into Castle every day. 

So long as Barker restricted himself to little lessons like how to walk quietly, Sarah would let him have time with Chuck. But if Barker tried anything bigger, anything that was actually dangerous, she’d have to stop it, no matter how nice it was to see Chuck light up and look happy.

“Sarah?” 

“Yeah, Chuck?” she said, looking at him after taking another sip of coffee. 

He cleared his throat. “Do you think . . . I know this is only supposed to last a year, but--but after the year is up and--” He paused to look around, then turned back to her and lowered his voice. “After the Intersect is out of my head, what if I wanted to keep doing this?” 

“Doing what?” Sarah asked, buying time as her mind worked. Because the sinking feeling in her gut told her she already knew what Chuck was asking about, but she couldn’t really believe it. 

“If I wanted to be a spy, could I do it?” 

His eyes were so clear and direct. Not dark and guarded, hiding how he really felt. Chuck was such an amazing, unbelievable man. Why on Earth would he want to become an agent? Learn how to bury how he felt, conceal himself behind some impenetrable mask and become--become Charles Carmichael? 

No. No, she couldn’t let that happen to Chuck. He was too good and kind and honest to become something he wasn’t--

And with a stab of fury, Sarah realized that she had fallen into a trap. A trap that Chuck had no idea he had just sprung on her. Because Chuck wasn’t real. In a few months, he would be gone and all that would be left was Charles Carmichael, genius agent of the CIA with a reserve that held everyone at arm’s length. 

Somehow, she had let herself forget that Chuck was the cover and Carmichael was real. Because the Chuck personality never faltered, never seemed to crack and show signs of being Carmichael deep down. As much as she cared for Chuck, she was fooling herself. Because when he was gone . . . 

“Agent Walker, Mr. Bartowski.” The arrival of Cole Barker broke the silence between Sarah and Chuck, giving her a moment to collect herself. She never thought she’d be happy to see Barker, but at this moment she was incredibly grateful for his presence. 

“Good morning, Cole!” Chuck said, smiling eagerly. “I’m just fueling up before I go take a look at the program.” He lifted his cup of coffee. “If I had known what you like, I’d have brought you a cup, too. Although, do you like peppermint lattes? Because that’s what I’ve got and I’ve barely drunk any of mine . . .”

“No, no, it’s fine, Chuck. Thank you for the offer, but I’m good with regular coffee,” Barker said, returning Chuck’s smile. “How’s the program looking?” 

“It’d be farther along if Sarah and Casey hadn’t insisted on me leaving last night,” Chuck said with a frown. “But it’s in good shape. I should be good to go by tonight.” 

Sarah’s lips twisted in a frown. Had Chuck just thrown her and Casey under the bus like that? If this was what Barker’s influence resulted in, she definitely didn’t like it. 

Suddenly, Chuck’s head whipped around and he looked at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that like it sounded. You and Casey were right, I needed sleep. I fell asleep with my shoes on, I was so tired.” 

“Good show, mate. Getting Agent Walker angry is a bad idea,” Barker said with a small grin before sipping his coffee. “Why don’t you bring me up to speed on the program so far?” 

“Yes--of course--just a second,” Chuck said, his eyes locked on Sarah’s. “Sarah?”

She nearly sighed in relief at the evidence that Chuck was still here. Giving him a quick smile, she nodded. “It’s okay, Chuck. Let’s get to work--we’ve only got nine hours before we need to be in position.” 

“Right!” Chuck said, a grin lighting up his face. “Cole, this way.” He lead the British agent away, chattering a mile a minute about his program, clearly not needing that peppermint latte. It would seem that he had forgotten that she hadn’t answered his question. 

Taking a long sip of her coffee, made just how she liked it, Sarah wondered what she could have said to him. Actually, it was a matter of what she should tell him--that it took years of training and sacrifices to become an agent and it was a life filled with danger and risk and loneliness--and what she wanted to tell him: that he could be an amazing agent, but she didn’t want that for him. Didn’t want him to lose the things that made him so special. The things that made him Chuck. 

Not when they’d both be losing those things so soon. 

XXX

Sarah looked up as Casey walked into the conference area, grinning a little at the sight of the muscular NSA agent in a red vest, white shirt, and dark pants. “I like your bartender look,” she teased.

“Shut up,” Casey said, his voice holding no real venom. He tugged on his bow tie. “Shouldn’t you be ready by now?” 

“I am,” she said, gesturing to her dark pants and top. “I’m staying in the van with Chuck, after all.”

Casey grunted. “Be easier if you went in as Barker’s date.” 

“Easier doesn’t mean smarter. Besides, I was a lot more noticeable during that gunfight. Fulcrum probably made me,” Sarah said lightly, signing off on her last report and standing up to stretch. She paused when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something strange on the surveillance cameras.

“Like you think they didn’t notice me at all?” Casey asked, but Sarah barely paid attention to him as she punched up the displays, expanding the video feeds to fit the large screens. She leaned forward, trying to figure out what had caught her attention. 

“There’s a lot of suit-and-tie types in the Buy More,” Sarah said, frowning. “I think--we need Chuck to see this.” 

He must have agreed with her instincts, because after a quick look at the screens, he turned and disappeared down the hallway towards the office Chuck had been using for the last day. Within a few moments, Chuck and Barker were in the conference room. As they approached, Sarah could hear Chuck’s voice.

“Casey, Casey! I’m nearly done and we don’t have a lot of time left--”

“Shut up and look at the screens, moron,” Casey said. 

Oh, fuck. Barker wasn’t supposed to know about the Intersect, let alone that Chuck had it! But for some reason, Sarah wasn’t so worried about that. Not with Chuck’s eyes rolling back in his head as he flashed. 

Chuck swayed on his feet as he came out of the flash. “Oh, oh . . . um, there’s at least seven known Fulcrum agents and five suspected agents in the Buy More. And another three or four that just creep me out.” 

Barker eyed the screens. “That woman--that’s Alexis White. Hard-line Fulcrum loyalist. She’ll be the one running the show.” 

“You know that ‘cause you’re workin’ for her, Barker?” Casey asked, his voice ice-cold. He was standing casually, but Sarah could see the coiled tension in his body. There was no doubt that he was ready to draw upon Barker if necessary. 

“What? No!” Barker said, sounding annoyed and affronted. “I’ve been vouched for by MI-6, I can assure you I’m not a triple agent. If I didn’t know who one of the major players in Fulcrum is, I’d be rubbish.” 

“Cole’s right--that woman is Alexis White,” Chuck said to Sarah softly, leaning in towards her a little. “It’s in . . . you know.” 

Sarah nodded and stepped forward, getting between Casey and Barker. “That’s enough. Stand down, Casey. We need to focus on the store full of Fulcrum agents just above us and what they’re doing there.” 

A muscle in Casey’s jaw tightened, but he nodded and eased back. “And how to get outta this without any civilians bein’ caught in the crossfire.” 

Chuck picked up the video remote and began punching buttons. It should surprise Sarah that he knew so much about using the electronics in Castle, but then, he was Chuck. He quickly cycled through the cameras, showing that each exit point from Castle was being watched by Fulcrum agents. 

“That . . . that doesn’t look good,” Chuck said, his voice wavering a little. 

“So sneaking out isn’t an option,” Sarah said, her mind working fast to find a way out of this situation. “How did they end up here?”

Barker’s voice was sheepish. “It could be there was a booby trap on the flash drive. Some kind of red flag if anyone tried to alter the drive.” 

“And you didn’t tell us that?” Casey asked, sounding even more annoyed. “Thanks, Barker. Some ‘special friendship’ between us and you Brits.” 

“It wasn’t something I considered until Chuck had already started working on his program!” Barker protested. 

“Save it,” Casey grunted, yanking his Sig from the back of his pants. “We’re contactin’ the bosses to get a tac team here.” 

“Your communications are already tapped, if they’re not down completely,” Barker said. “It’s just us. We need to come up with a plan to get out of here.” 

“The Buy More’s the best option, which is why Fulcrum’s packed it with agents among the civilians,” Sarah said. “There’s too much risk in getting Chuck out, not to mention what could happen to all the innocent bystanders.” 

“Could they know who Chuck is?” Casey asked Sarah, his voice low. 

She shrugged her shoulders. “Your guess is as good as mine.” 

He grunted. “Great. We’ve got one of those bomb disposal suits--you think they’d stop bullets?” 

“Maybe,” Sarah said. “If he’s got a vest on underneath, we’d just have to worry about large-caliber weapons and head shots.” 

Barker interrupted. “You go guns blazing to try and get Chuck out of this situation, you’ll both die, messily. I still have some leverage with them--let me go talk to Fulcrum and see if we can make some kind of trade.” 

Casey snorted. “Yeah, sure. What you gonna do, be a hero and offer up yourself? You think we trust you not to spill your guts?” 

“Why would I tell them anything?” Barker asked, sounding frustrated and loud.

“Because everybody talks! And you wanna get in good with your bosses--both sets!” Casey said. 

“Guys, guys!” 

As one, Sarah, Casey and Barker turned to Chuck and said, “What?” in tones of annoyance, anger and frustration. 

Chuck took a step back and swallowed. “I--I have a plan. One that protects the civilians and doesn’t require any trades.” 

“Like hell you do,” Casey spat out. 

To Sarah’s shock, instead of shrinking from Casey, Chuck stood up even straighter, coming to his full height for perhaps the first time since Sarah had met him. “I do. It starts with evacuating the Buy More. You remember the ‘pineapple’ drill, don’t you, Casey?” 

Pineapple? What the hell did that mean? Sarah looked at Casey, who had a strange look on his face. 

“Getting the civilians out would create confusion. We could eliminate a few of the Fulcrum agents, even the odds a bit,” Barker said. 

“That’s just one problem, though--how are we going to deal with the agents that are left?” Sarah said, looking at Chuck. 

Once again, he picked up the remote. This time, he took a deep breath before his fingers flew over the buttons, minimizing the video feeds and bringing up a wealth of documents on the screen. “This is something I’ve been working on for the last few weeks,” Chuck said, keeping his eyes fixed on the screen. “For a video ga--for fun,” he said quickly. 

As she took in what was on the screens, Sarah felt her eyes widen. How in the hell had Chuck managed to do this without anyone noticing? 

Because somehow, he had hacked into the CIA’s personnel files and created one for himself, under the name of Special Agent Charles Cartwright.

“Bartowski, what the fuck have you done?” Casey’s voice was mostly angry, but Sarah thought she detected a hint of worry, deep underneath the anger. At this moment, the proportions of anger to worry were more fifty-fifty for her, but it would all depend on how Chuck answered Casey’s question to determine whether anger or fear would rule the day for her. 

“All I wanted to do was to see if I could get in,” Chuck said, his words tumbling out. “And once I got in, I thought . . . well, who’d notice if I left a file there? So I put this together and started adding to it and--I was gonna delete it in a few days, I swear. Once me and Morgan pulled off our plan, it was gonna be gone.”

“And what plan is that?” Sarah asked numbly. 

“We--we were prepping for this Call of Duty raid, and, well, we thought it’d make us look better if we pretended we had a CIA agent on our team,” Chuck said, his whole face turning red instead of just his ears.

He had done all this for a video game? Hacked into the CIA, risked exposing himself, and unknowingly came very close to his real identity . . . for a fucking video game? 

Sarah didn’t know what to feel. Cole Barker, however, did not seem to have that problem. 

Letting out a loud, raucous laugh, he slapped Chuck on the back. “That is bloody ingenious, Chuck.”

Barker turned to Sarah and Casey. “We can use this. Once the store is cleared out, we have Chuck as Agent Cartwright stroll out and tell Fulcrum the jig is up. We’ll get them to surrender to us.” 

“Bartowski can’t do it,” Casey retorted immediately. “He’s not an agent. And he’s a lousy liar.” 

“Of course he can,” Barker said, turning to look at Chuck. “You can do this, Chuck. We’ll be right with you, every step of the way. This is how you can save all of us.” 

God, Barker was good. Sarah could practically see Chuck blooming like a flower exposed to sunlight. How had they missed something so basic about him? His need for validation and encouragement? How had _she_ missed this? 

“I could--I could act like the plan for the raid is what’s going on right now,” Chuck said slowly. “I know that plan inside and out. I can sell that.” He paused and looked at Casey for a moment. “I can do this.” 

Casey didn’t look convinced, Sarah thought. But instead of trying to convince him, Chuck swung his gaze towards her. “Sarah? Do you--you believe me, don’t you?” 

That was the question, wasn’t it? Did she believe that Chuck Bartowski could do this? Sarah wasn’t sure. But the thing is . . . this wasn’t something she’d expect Chuck to do. But it was exactly the kind of plan that Charles Carmichael could pull off. 

Maybe this cover identity wasn’t as secure, as all-encompassing, as they thought. Because there was no way Chuck could pull this off. But if little bits of Carmichael were bleeding through . . . then maybe, just maybe, Chuck could do this. 

And if they could get through this, then she would have the time to figure out why the thought of Carmichael not being as buried as she thought made her so damn unhappy. 

Slowly, she nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think you can do this.” 

She didn’t actually know that. But she wanted him to know that she believed in him in spite of her doubts. And with the way he smiled at her, big and bright and surprised and happy, she knew she had made the right call. 

Casey grunted. “We gonna do this, we better hurry.” 

“Very true, Major Casey,” Barker said. “Let’s get some weapons--you, too, Chuck--and then we’ll get started on evacuating the civilians.” 

Pushing aside her thoughts, Sarah got to work. There would be time later to cope with all these strange, churning emotions inside her. But first, they had to save the people in the Buy More, keep the Intersect in Chuck hidden, and defeat Fulcrum. It was a tall order, but they had to win today.

Or else very bad things would happen to all of them. Including Chuck. 

XXX

The parking lot outside the Buy More was a hubbub of activity. A CIA tactical team, camouflaged as police and paramedics, was milling around, finishing the task of taking in the remaining Fulcrum agents. A few had refused to surrender, namely Alexis White, who had injected herself with ricin rather than give in. 

Sarah sat on a curb, a dozen yards from the front doors of the Buy More, watching all the activity. Watching as a few body bags were wheeled out, watching as Casey and Barker spoke with the various agents, watching as another successful operation was wrapped up. 

It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t thrilled by the outcome of today. Because together, they had totally kicked Fulcrum’s ass. They had gone in with a daring, audacious plan and even with a few curveballs, they had made it work. A mission like this, one that succeeded despite the odds, always fired her up and gave her a shot of adrenaline. Right now, she felt like she could take over the world. This was the feeling that kept her going when things got bad. 

Yet at the same time . . . she felt so tired. Tired and wrung-out and confused. Because seeing Chuck attempt to be Agent Cartwright, it made her think of Carmichael. She hadn’t thought of him much for the past few months, too caught up in learning Chuck to consider the man he really was. But she was fooling herself if she didn’t remember that in a few short months, Chuck Bartowski would be gone forever. 

She pursed her lips, feeling a sulky expression settle over her face. She didn’t want that. She didn’t want Chuck to go. 

“Wow, if looks could kill.” Speaking of the devil, Chuck dropped down onto the curb next to her, stretching his insanely long legs out in front of him. “Are you okay?” 

With a shrug of her shoulders, Sarah turned to look at him. Now that most of the tactical team was gone, Casey must have given Chuck the sign that he could come out of Castle. They had sent him down there after the initial rush, in order to eliminate questions about Chuck from the other agents. A bruise was blooming on his cheekbone, a gift from Alexis White’s fist. But otherwise, he looked okay. 

“Yeah,” Sarah said quietly, running her hands through her hair. “I’ll just be glad when I can go home. Take a shower, eat something leafy and green, go to bed.” 

Chuck let out a soft laugh. “Sarah Walker: a woman of simple tastes.” 

She managed a wan smile. “How about you?” She ghosted her fingers over the bruise. “I know that has to hurt.” 

“It does,” Chuck said. “But . . . but I’m kinda glad. It’s something to remind me of what happened and how . . . how I got myself in over my head.” 

What did that mean? Tilting her head, she gave him a quizzical look. 

“I . . . I got caught up in all this,” Chuck said, waving his hand around and encompassing the few remaining bits of action in front of them. “Into thinking I could be a spy. But the thing is, I’m not cut out for this. I felt ready to puke the whole time I was pretending to be Agent Cartwright.” 

Sarah turned her head, gazing down at the section of curb between them. Listening to his words, not really trusting herself to say anything. 

“This world you live in . . . it’s not for me,” Chuck said, his voice sad and a little disappointed. Like he was ashamed of having to admit such a weakness. “I have to accept my limits, just like you told me when we started this. I’m not saying I’m not gonna do everything I can to help you and Casey,” he said, his words a bit rushed. “There’s plenty that I can do, with computers or from the van. But . . . but I’m done pretending to be what I’m not. I already erased all evidence of Charles Cartwright.” 

This was good. This was everything she wanted Chuck to be: accepting of his role in Operation Bartowski, willing to wait in the van and keep himself safe. 

So there was no reason for her to say, “The Cartwright persona, creating it in the first place and doing it secretly . . . it wasn’t a good idea, Chuck. But--but that doesn’t mean you have to feel like you didn’t do good work today.” She looked at him for a long moment, then smiled. “You were pretty impressive.” 

His eyes widened a little at her words. “Really?” he asked, his voice soft and hopeful. 

She nodded and let herself lean over, nudging her shoulder against his. “Really. But next time, don’t let Morgan talk you into some crazy scheme like Agent Cartwright.” 

Chuck laughed. “He’s been doing that since we were in kindergarten. I don’t see anything changing anytime soon.” 

“Yeah?” She smiled at him a little. “Those times before--were there any as crazy as this time?” 

As Chuck began telling her about the greatest hits in his friendship with Morgan, Sarah wrapped her arms around her knees. The curb was pretty dirty and had probably left stains on her white pants. It was getting downright chilly as it got later in the evening. And sitting here and listening to Chuck wasn’t getting her any closer to her shower and her meal and her bed. 

But watching his eyes dance, his mouth smile, his hands gesture . . . it was so much better.

End, Chapter 10


	11. Chapter 11

Rolling her shoulders forward, Sarah huddled deeper in her blue hooded sweatshirt, clutching a bag of doughnuts and a cup of coffee. Southern California might not be Russia, but it was still December and she should have worn a jacket. But for a quick trip across the parking lot from the Orange Orange to the Buy More, she could deal with the chilly air. 

It was the morning of Christmas Eve and Chuck had to work, so she thought she would bring him some breakfast. It was a girlfriend kind of thing to do, thus protecting her cover. And . . . and Chuck was her friend. He’d get that happy smile on his face once he saw her, the one that made him light up, the one that made her feel warm inside . . . 

Thinking like that was dangerous. When she thought about Chuck, she got distracted--and a distracted handler wasn’t doing her job. Because Fulcrum was clearly on to Operation Bartowski; they knew that the one thing they most wanted--the Intersect--had been put into another agent. And although they didn’t know who had it, just knowing it existed was enough to make Fulcrum take crazy risks. That was what Sarah suspected, at least. So it was time for her and Casey to be on the top of their game, to make no mistakes or even little slip-ups. Because Chuck’s life was on the line. 

She couldn’t lose him. 

Before her thoughts could sink deeper into worry and doubt, she reached the locked doors of the Buy More. It was more than an hour before opening, but there were already several employees inside. She peered through the glass doors, trying to make eye contact with someone. When Lester, the creepy Nerd Herder, looked towards the doors, Sarah gave him a smile and gestured towards the doors. 

Instead of moving to let her in, Lester gave her a dismissive wave. She could see him say, “Go away, Blondie.” 

Frowning, Sarah looked at the lock. She could pick it in three seconds--well, more like five, since her hands were full. But that was out of the question, of course. So instead, she lifted up the bag of doughnuts and held it in front of her face. 

Within thirty seconds, there was a click and the doors whooshed open. “I hope there’s some gluten-free ones in there,” Lester said. 

“Um, maybe. Let me just take Chuck’s jelly-filled and you can share the doughnuts with everyone else,” Sarah said, quickly snatching the raspberry jelly pastry from the bag before handing the rest of the doughnuts over to Lester with a tight smile. 

Edging away from Lester, who was being surrounded by the rest of the Buy More employees, Sarah looked around and immediately spotted Chuck’s tall form over by the video wall. He was talking to Ellie and Devon, holding a remote control in his hand and pointing it at one of the televisions.

“ . . . I’m not a green shirt, but this model is a really great choice,” Sarah heard him say as she approached. 

“It’s like we’re watching the car chase from the side of the road,” Ellie said with a laugh, but there was definitely an impressed note in her voice, as if she liked what she saw in the television’s features. 

Another sign that Ellie really was Chuck’s sister, Sarah guessed. She put on a smile. “Good morning, everyone.” 

Chuck whirled around and beamed at her. “Sarah! Hey. Merry Christmas.” He leaned down and pecked her lips. “What’s that?” he said, pointing to the coffee and doughnut in her hands. “You’re not really a doughnut girl.”

For Devon’s benefit, Sarah gave Chuck a sweet smile. “No, but you’re a doughnut guy. And I know how hungry you get in the mornings even when you eat breakfast, which you probably didn’t do today with the early start.” 

“Nope,” Chuck said, taking the coffee and pastry from her. “You’re an angel.” 

Somehow, his off-hand compliment meant the world to her, even as he crammed the doughnut into his mouth. Because there was the look in his eyes, the smile on his face . . . 

Distractions are dangerous, she told herself firmly. Just because they were developing a friendship didn’t mean she should be paying attention to things she shouldn’t notice. She turned to Ellie and Devon as Chuck ate. “What brings you to the Buy More today?” 

“Oh, Devon and I are taking advantage of the friends and family discount to get something for us. I want a new TV, but Devon wants a washing machine.” Ellie directed an amused look at her husband, who was looking at the various televisions with a raised eyebrow. 

“I’m sure you’ll get him to see your side,” Sarah said, unable to help a small grin. If there was one thing she knew, Eleanor Bartowski Woodcomb was never afraid of going toe-to-toe with her husband. And when she did that, she usually won. 

Ellie laughed. “Here’s hoping.” She gave Sarah a warm smile. “How are you doing? Chuck said you wouldn’t be able to come over for Christmas tomorrow, which is a real shame. Was it the _Twilight Zone_ marathon? Because we could whittle it down to the greatest hits if that’s not your thing.” 

Sarah felt her cheeks turn pink. “No, it’s not about the _Twilight Zone_. I just--I don’t do Christmas.” 

The more she said it, the stupider the excuse became. But when Chuck had asked her to celebrate Christmas with his family, the words had just slipped out. Because it was easy to miss Thanksgiving in her line of work, Sarah had done everything possible to avoid Christmas. It brought up too many bad memories of her childhood. Watching the holiday joy pass her by, feeling left out and odd because in her family, Christmas meant conning Salvation Army bell-ringers out of their kettles. 

But no matter how stupid the excuse, she had to stay committed to it. There would be too many questions raised if she suddenly decided to join everyone for their Christmas event. Right? 

Perhaps because Ellie knew the truth about Sarah, she didn’t question the excuse. “We’ll miss you tomorrow,” the older woman said, her eyes fixed on Sarah. “And if you change your mind, the door’s always open. I know Chuck would love to have you there.” 

“Thanks,” Sarah said. She shifted a little, realizing that Ellie had given her a perfect opening to talk about something that had been bothering her. Glancing around, she saw that Devon had dragged Chuck over towards the laundry machines. Turning back to Ellie, she lowered her voice. “I did have something to ask you about . . .” 

“Of course, Sarah,” Ellie said, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. Sarah, feeling exposed, gestured for Ellie to move away from the video wall and the knot of Buy More employees who were still watching the in-progress car chase. Ending up near the sales desk, Ellie gave Sarah a small smile. “What is it?” Ellie asked, looking concerned.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah looked Ellie in the face. “Are you trying to set me up with Chuck for real?”

Without blinking, Ellie nodded. “Yep.” 

“Why?” Sarah asked, feeling completely thrown. She hadn’t expected Ellie to admit what she was doing like that and she was utterly confused about why Ellie was doing this, when she knew that in a few months Chuck would be gone and Sarah would be back to her old life.

“Listen, Sarah, there’s a lot you don’t know about Chuck--” 

The employees gathered by the video wall had gotten a lot louder. Sarah looked over at them briefly, wondering what the big deal was, and then there was a loud crash. On instinct, Sarah threw herself forward, pushing Ellie down and sheltering her against the sales desk. Then, as soon as she knew Ellie was okay, Sarah stood up and looked around, searching for Chuck. 

At the same time she spotted him, feeling a wave of relief that he was all right, a man with a gun slowly stumbled out of the car that had just driven through the customer doors of the Buy More.

XXX

Sarah didn’t normally spend a lot of time with Chuck at the Buy More. She would drop by a few times a week, to help maintain their cover. But on the whole, she let Casey be in charge when Chuck was at work. Plus, it gave Chuck a break. Time when he didn’t have to worry about the fake relationship between himself and Sarah. He never seemed very comfortable with having to kiss her in public, to put on a show for his co-workers. 

Now that she had spent three hours in the company of said co-workers, she couldn’t help wondering if Chuck had been giving her a break, too. Because . . . because she couldn’t stand them. 

That was a bit harsh. Anna was nice enough: she had complimented Sarah’s sneakers, which led to chatting for a few minutes about clothes. Being a woman in a male-dominated industry, Anna seemed pretty eager for female friends, and Sarah made a mental note of that. And now that she knew Morgan better, she could understand Chuck’s friendship with the short bearded man a little better.

But the rest of the employees? Big Mike, who seemed to dump whatever work he could onto Chuck? Lester, who gave off a squirrelly vibe that made her wonder just what laws he was breaking in his private life? The random collection of other workers who seemed to have destroyed most of their brain cells with video games, fast food, alcohol, and/or illegal drugs? And just thinking about Jeff made her skin crawl a little bit. These were the people that Chuck surrounded himself with on a daily basis? How was he not crazy? 

Her arms folded over her chest, Sarah stood by herself, watching Chuck interact with Edward “Call me Ned” Ryerson. With Casey outside the Buy More when Ned had crashed into the store, Sarah protecting her cover and acting like the frozen yogurt seller she was supposed to be, and everyone looking to Chuck to save the day, she should be more worried. Worried that Chuck, who didn’t believe he was cut out for the spy life, would crumple under the pressure. After all, so far he hadn’t shown much ability to be strategic at anything other than video games. 

But instead, he was blossoming.

He had seemed shocked when everyone had pointed to him in response to Ned’s question about who was in charge, but then he had just started being in charge. So far, he had managed to keep Ned calm, maintain communications with the police, and even thwarted Devon’s half-cocked plan to take out the unstable gunman. 

It was pretty damn impressive. Something about it nagged at her, though--a feeling that she was missing something.

Taking a quick look around, Sarah judged it safe enough to walk over towards Chuck, who had stayed near the Nerd Herd desk while the other employees, as well as Devon and Ellie, were clustered in small groups in front of the video wall and in the home theater room. As she walked slowly towards the desk, Ned looked at her in confusion and lifted his gun. 

“Ned! Ned, remember, this is my girlfriend, Sarah?” Chuck’s voice was a bit frantic--showing more emotion than she had heard from him since the start of the hostage situation. She held her hands up, giving Ned a tremulous smile. 

“Oh, yeah. Right. Sarah.” Ned lowered his gun, then scratched the back of his head with the same hand that was holding the gun. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Sarah said quickly, keeping her hands up. “I just wanted to talk to Chuck for a minute?”

“That’s okay, Ned?” Chuck asked, sounding more controlled, his voice gentle. 

The slight man shrugged, then nodded. “Sure.” 

Almost at the same time, Sarah reached for Chuck’s hand just as he was reaching for hers. They held hands tightly as they stepped about fifteen feet away from Ned. Looking up at Chuck, she could see some of the strain on his face. 

“Are you okay?” she asked softly, reaching up and adjusting his crooked tie with her free hand. 

“Yeah . . . yeah, I’m okay,” he said, blowing out a breath. “Have you ever done this before?” 

“Yes, but not for this long. Only until the snipers arrived,” she said, resisting the urge to slide her hand down his tie and instead just pulling her hand back. 

Chuck paled a little. “Yeah . . . don’t think that would work here. What if they missed?” 

“Shh, Chuck,” she said, stepping closer to him. “That’s not in the cards. You keep doing what you’re doing and soon the police have a hostage negotiator to take over with Ned.”

“I really hope so,” Chuck said, looking down. Then he squared his shoulders a little. “You’re okay? And Ellie and Devon?” 

She gave him a small smile. “We’re all good. I think Ellie’s still giving Devon a piece of her mind about his plan.” 

As she hoped, Chuck let out a soft laugh. “I think she’ll be doing that for a long, long time. Once she spent two weeks yelling at me for the time I took her car without asking.” 

“Two weeks for taking her car?” Sarah asked. “It doesn’t seem like the punishment fits the crime.” 

He gave her a sheepish look that was frankly adorable. “I might have put a few scratches on the car.”

“Ahhh,” Sarah said, smiling at him. “Now I understand.” 

Before Chuck could reply, the phone on the Nerd Herd desk began ringing and Ned called out, “Chuck!” 

Sarah reached up and kissed Chuck’s cheek quickly. “Back to work.” 

Giving her hand a quick squeeze, Chuck nodded. “Yeah.” Then, letting go of her hand, he turned and walked back to the Nerd Herd desk, picking up the phone as soon as he got back. “This is Chuck.” 

Walking back towards the rest of the group, Sarah couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder and watching Chuck. Seeing how capable he looked. It was a good look on him. 

XXX

The next hour was quiet. There didn’t seem to be much progress on the negotiation front, from what Sarah could see and hear. She had been pacing for the last ten minutes, but finally let out a sigh and sat down next to Ellie, who was curled up in one of the home theater chairs. “Hi,” she said quietly.

“Hey,” Ellie said, shifting in her chair and running her hands through her hair. “How are you holding up?” 

“Okay,” Sarah said, giving Ellie her best version of a reassuring smile. But to be honest, she was starting to get worried. The police were moving way too slowly for Sarah’s liking and there was only so much Chuck could do, even if he seemed to have an unexpected gift for hostage negotiation. 

Suddenly, that niggle became clear. When she had first gotten the Operation Bartowski assignment, she had read Carmichael’s personnel file. Until now, she had forgotten that one of his many skills was hostage negotiation--that he had received special training and had been instrumental in defusing several stand-offs. 

She could feel her shoulders slump a little. This wasn’t the first time she had thought that Carmichael was peeking through Chuck--but it was certainly the clearest sign so far that Carmichael wasn’t nearly so buried as he was supposed to be. And for some reason, that made her sad. Sad and annoyed and rather grumpy. 

It didn’t seem fair. Chuck had so many good qualities; he had boundless potential. Yet he didn’t seem to realize it, and he’d never get to realize it. Because in a few short months, Chuck would be gone. And all that would be left was Charles Carmichael. Who was a good spy, yes. But was he a good brother? A good friend? Sarah didn’t know. She didn’t really know anything about him, and after nine months of spending time with Chuck, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to get to know Carmichael. 

“Earth to Sarah.” 

Ellie’s voice was a bit amused as she brought Sarah out of her trance. “Oh,” Sarah said, flushing. “Sorry, Ellie.” 

“We’re all pretty distracted right now,” Ellie said. She looked around, then locked her eyes on Sarah’s. “But if you want to talk, about anything . . .” 

“In the middle of all this?” Sarah said, gesturing around them.

The brunette shrugged. “Why not? No one’s paying attention to anyone else. And you look like you need to talk.” 

God, she was such a crappy spy. Leaning back against her chair, Sarah nodded. “Yeah, I guess I do. I’m just really worried about Chuck--about the strain he’s under.”

“So am I,” Ellie said. “This is a lot for him to handle. But so far, the worst-case scenarios that the CIA came up with haven’t come to pass. I think they’re kinda shocked by how well Chuck has managed.” 

Sarah knew the truth in Ellie’s words. Shock was an understatement for how those in the know reacted to Carmichael/Chuck’s success with the Intersect. How well he could use it, how great a resource it had become. She was actually pretty surprised that other than the one attempt to throw Chuck into a bunker, there had been no discussion about keeping Operation Bartowski going longer than a year. She supposed they were stuck between a rock and a hard place: Carmichael was too valuable to keep buried under the Chuck persona, but they were desperate to find someone who could use the Intersect as well as he could. 

“You’re still doing brain scans on Chuck, right?” Sarah asked quietly. 

Ellie nodded. “Every two months. Chuck’s got another one coming up after the beginning of the year.” 

“Are there . . . are there any extra tests you could run?” At Ellie’s confused look, Sarah explained further. “I’m a bit worried that . . . that the Chuck personality is cracking a little. He’s been under a lot of pressure lately, and I don’t want anything to happen to him.” 

“He’s seemed fine to me, Sarah,” Ellie said, reaching out and resting a hand on Sarah’s arm. “You haven’t seen any symptoms--the signs that we talked about?”

How could Sarah explain what she was feeling when she wasn’t sure of it herself? That she thought that Carmichael was bleeding through Chuck? Because doing that might open up the can of worms that was her past with Carmichael. She didn’t want to give Ellie the wrong idea. 

“No,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “I’m just . . . worried. Is there anything else you can test for? Just in case?”

Ellie looked thoughtful, her lips slightly pursed. “I could try a PET-CT scan. I mostly do MRI and fMRI scans on Chuck, looking for anatomical changes in his brain. But a PET-CT scan would let me see if there’s anything going on that hasn’t shown up on an anatomical scan.” She paused, then grinned. “Sorry, doctor talk. Basically, yes, I could run some other tests. It wouldn’t hurt to have some more data at this point, since I’ll have to start preparing my final reports soon.” 

“Great,” Sarah said, feeling slightly relieved. “That sounds great, Ellie. Thank you. I guess I sound like a worrywart.” 

“Only a little,” Ellie said, smiling at her. “Which kind of brings us back to our earlier conversation.” She paused and looked at Sarah before continuing. 

“You asked me earlier if I was trying to set up you and Chuck for real,” Ellie said. “I am. Because I think you two are perfect for each other.” 

There was such sincerity in Ellie’s voice. Sincerity and confidence. Like this was something she had thought about and was convinced of its accuracy. That Sarah and Chuck could have something real. The thought of Chuck’s sister feeling that way . . . it made something in Sarah tighten into a ball. Because Ellie just didn’t understand. 

“I thought you said I wasn’t Chuck’s type,” Sarah said, trying to make a joke out of it. But Ellie wasn’t biting. 

“He’s crazy about you, Sarah. And I think you like him a lot more than you let on.”

Even though she felt like she was being harsh, she couldn’t let Ellie stay in some fantasyland. “No matter what I feel, it doesn’t matter,” Sarah pointed out. “Putting aside that there’s strict rules about handler-asset relationships, in three months, Chuck’s going to be gone.” 

“I don’t think so,” Ellie said. “You think Chuck is different from Charles. But he’s not really that different.” 

Now that was crazy. Almost certifiable, Sarah thought. It took a lot of effort to not let her skepticism show on her face. Because there was no way Ellie was right. Chuck was different from Carmichael. Ellie didn’t know--she didn’t really know Carmichael. More than that, Ellie didn’t know what spies were like. Spies weren’t open and honest and hopeful, kind and caring and determined to prioritize everyone else over the needs of a mission. Carmichael was a great spy because he wasn’t any of those things. 

Sarah frowned. That was being too hard on Carmichael. She had told Ellie that she thought Carmichael was a good man, and she had to stand by that even now. But when compared to Chuck, Carmichael came up short. He was a good man--but Chuck was a great man. The kind of man that a woman could spend her whole life searching for and would only find if she was really, really lucky. 

But Chuck wasn’t for her. She wasn’t that lucky. 

Somehow, she managed a smile for Ellie. “You think so?” she asked, doing her best to keep her doubt out of her voice.

Ellie nodded. “I could see my brother in the spy who showed up to see me a year ago. Chuck Bartowski’s still in Charles Carmichael--he just doesn’t know it.” 

That was even more confusing. But then, everything about this was confusing. Sarah rubbed her forehead, feeling the return of that headache she kept getting when she thought about Chuck vs. Carmichael. It had been a while since she had gotten one--and she hadn’t missed them at all. 

“Guys?” 

Everyone looked up as Chuck’s voice cut through the quiet buzz of multiple soft conversations. He gave them all a small smile. “Ned’s letting everyone call their loved ones, since it’s Christmas Eve and all. So, y’know, go ahead.” 

Almost in unison, everyone in the store took out their cell phones and started dialing. Devon walked over and sat on the arm of Ellie’s chair, looking like a male model. “You want to call my parents?” he asked her quietly. 

Ellie took Devon’s hand and nodded, giving him a small smile. Sarah felt like she was intruding and stood up, slipping away. Wanting to get some distance between all these people that had someone to call in this situation. Unlike her. Because she had lost contact with her dad a few years ago, and with her mother even longer ago. And other than her parents, who could she call? Bryce? Carina? 

Sighing softly, she slid her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. When her fingers made contact with her cell phone, she nearly jumped in surprise. She had turned the ringer off a few hours ago, setting the phone to vibrate. And that’s what the phone was doing now: vibrating against her fingertips. 

When she pulled it out, Sarah couldn’t help a tiny smile. “Hi, Chuck,” she said, looking around. “Where are you?” 

“DVD section,” he said, his location and the sound of his voice joining together to draw her towards him. “I’m in romantic comedies, although wouldn’t it be hilariously ironic if it was hostage thrillers.” 

Letting out a soft huff of laughter, she rounded the corner into the aisle where Chuck was, crouched down on one knee. She ended the call as she walked over and sat across from him. “Thanks for calling me.” She paused, not liking the shy, wistful tone in her voice, and did her best to sound more business-like. “It’s good for the cover.” 

He lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “You are my fake girlfriend.” 

Sarah rested her hands on her knees, wondering just what he meant by that. Things between them had settled into a comfortable, friendly vibe since Thanksgiving and Hurricane Bryce. She had liked being able to talk and joke around with Chuck, since she couldn’t ignore or avoid him like she had tried in the early days of Operation Bartowski. Not with how important a member of the team he had become. He was more than just an asset. 

But now she was wondering if he wasn’t happy with how things were. If perhaps he wanted something from her that he wasn’t getting, something that she could give him. Something like spending Christmas with his family. What would it hurt to do that? It wasn’t like she had plans for tomorrow--far from it. She had gotten as far as sleeping in, but for her that meant not setting her alarm. Which left many hours stretching before her, empty and bare of any real plans. 

“Um, well, would it be all right if a fake girlfriend joined you for Christmas?” Why did she feel so damn shy around him all of a sudden? Was it thinking that Chuck was acting like Carmichael? Was it Ellie’s belief that there wasn’t that much difference between them? Sarah didn’t know, but . . . but she didn’t like the way she felt. 

Especially not when Chuck slowly smiled at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Really?” he asked, his voice equal parts happy and surprised. 

She nodded. “Yeah. I mean . . . um, I thought it’d be weird if I was there at your place on a day that’s about family and friends. But I--I don’t really have anyone to spend Christmas with, so--” 

Chuck was hugging her. He had moved so quickly that she hadn’t been ready for it, for the impact of his arms wrapping around her and drawing her face close to his neck. It was so unexpected and surprising that it took her a moment to respond. Then she carefully hugged him back, for the cover. 

When he pulled back, he beamed at her. “I knew you could be heart-warmed.” 

Laughing, Sarah ducked her head and eased back from him a little. Needing a little space so she wouldn’t do something rash. Something that the little voice deep down inside her was urging her to do, the voice that made her do things like sleep with a man at the end of a mission. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said, trying to act as normal as possible. 

He nodded, then looked around for a moment before returning his gaze to her. “Since you weren’t coming tomorrow, I have your Christmas gift. And even though I’ll see you tomorrow, I kinda want to give it to you now.” Slowly, he drew a black pouch out of his pocket, something that clearly contained some kind of jewelry. 

Feeling her heart leap into her throat was not how a handler should respond to such a situation. Especially not when followed by the thought, “ _Oh, crap, what am I going to give him for Christmas?_ ” 

“Chuck, you didn’t have to--” she started to say, only for her jaw to click shut when he delicately lifted a silver charm bracelet from the pouch. 

It was dainty-looking, but also not. The chain looked sturdy and solid, but the small charms dangling from it were small and frankly cute: a key, a heart, a wishbone. It looked old and worn and well-loved. She swallowed a little, then gave Chuck a hesitant smile. “It’s beautiful.” 

His eyes were full of emotion, emotion that she could tell he was working very hard to keep out of his voice. “It was my mom’s. I wanted to give it to you for good luck. Because you protect me every day from so much, and for that you need all the luck you can get.” His large fingers easily undid the bracelet’s catch and took each end, bringing the bracelet around her wrist. 

As he kept speaking, Sarah watched him focus on the clasp, making sure it was secure. “Just so you know, even after this year is up . . . you always have someone you can come and spend Christmas with. Because I’ll always be your friend.”

“I--I can’t take this, Chuck,” she said, hating that she had to say that. Not simply because she wouldn’t be able to keep it once the assignment was over, not just because it was one of the few things he had that was his mother’s. “This--this, you should give to someone you really care about,” she said, stumbling a bit over her words even as she looked at the bracelet and saw how perfectly it fit around her wrist, when normally most bracelets were huge on her. 

Chuck was holding her hand in both of his and his thumb was rubbing oh-so-small strokes against her skin and she felt like she might explode. Even though it was a bad idea, she lifted her eyes to meet his. 

And what she saw there made her want to take a deep breath and close her eyes and ask him for another hug. Because in those big brown eyes of his, there wasn’t friendship. There was passion and respect and love. 

Oh, God. He--he really cared about her. No, that wasn’t what it was. That wasn’t anywhere close to what he felt, based on his eyes. No, the man in front of her . . . he was in love and couldn’t have the woman he wanted. And so he’d resigned himself to be friends, knowing all the rules and reasons she’d throw in his face if he made his feelings known. 

This--this was not good. And also so good. Because she couldn’t feel like this, she couldn’t--she wouldn’t. This wasn’t in the cards. 

But he knew that. He was doing his best to keep his feelings to himself, because she had told him that there couldn’t be anything between them. And that meant she had to do the same--push aside what she was feeling, something she had gotten really good at, and take his offer of friendship. Because friendship was all they could have for the next three months, before Operation Bartowski was over and he would be gone. 

Gone forever. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right that this sweet, kind, caring man was just some made-up creation, too good to be real but sitting right in front of her, his heart in his eyes. A creation that only had a few more months before he’d be replaced by a man who only looked like him. 

Taking a deep breath, Sarah tried to regain some control. “T-thank you,” she said, her voice just above a whisper and shaking slightly. 

He gave her a small smile. “You’re welcome.” 

“Chuck!” 

Ned’s voice was like a bucket of cold water being dumped over the both of them. Chuck’s head dropped for a moment, then he smiled at her and shrugged. “Duty calls.” 

She nodded and did her best to smile back. “Yeah. You can do it,” she said, wanting to give him some encouragement and support. 

His ears went a pale red, but he just squeezed her hand. “Thanks,” he said with a quick grin before he hopped up and went in the direction of Ned’s voice.

Sarah leaned back, shifting her legs out from underneath herself and pulling her knees in against her chest. She couldn’t stay here long. She needed to watch Chuck and make sure he was okay. There was waiting for the hostage negotiator to finally show up and finding a way to get another message to Casey, who was monitoring the situation from Castle. 

But that could wait five minutes. She could take five minutes to cope with her life falling to pieces around herself. So she gave herself that time, staring at the bracelet around her wrist and marveling at how such a delicate thing could be so weighted with meaning. 

XXX 

The arrival of the hostage negotiator made everyone’s spirits rise, and none more so than Sarah’s. She was going to do everything she could to get Chuck out of here. Standard procedure was for the negotiator to arrange for a number of hostages to be released as a sign of good faith on the hostage-taker’s part. Chuck needed to be one of the released hostages. He was under too much stress and even though he had held up so far, she was worried about him. 

The man in question had walked away from the Nerd Herd desk, stopping halfway between the desk and the front doors. Glancing back at Ned, Sarah stepped over towards him. “The negotiator’s on his way in?” 

Chuck nodded. “Should be here any minute.” He glanced back over his shoulder, probably checking on Ned, then turned back to face the doors. “I just want this to be over. You know?”

“Yeah, I know,” she said. Seeing a man approach the doors, she gave Chuck a small smile and stepped back as Ned came around the desk. It took all she had in her to remember her cover when Ned jammed his gun against Chuck’s back and directed him towards the doors. 

The man who walked in was about six feet tall, with fair, pinkish skin and close-cropped blond hair. He set down his bulletproof vest as he stepped into the store; a practiced move if Sarah had ever seen one. “Ned?” he asked, looking around Chuck as best he could to see the shorter man. “I’m Lieutenant Mauser. And this must be Chuck, right?” 

Ned and Chuck’s voices were quieter, not carrying as much as Mauser’s. Sarah tried to guess what they were saying, especially when she saw Chuck’s shoulders tense. 

“What’s going on?” hissed Ellie. 

Sarah turned back towards Ellie, Devon and the Buy More staff and shrugged. “I can’t hear,” she whispered. 

Suddenly, Mauser’s voice cut through the store. “Let’s get some of these hostages out of here. Perhaps you--the blonde in the blue sweatshirt?” 

“Oh, no--Ellie and Devon should go,” Sarah said, turning back to look at them. 

“They could go,” Ned said. “But you, you’re Chuck’s girlfriend. Bet you want your girlfriend to be safe, right, Chuck?” 

Even from fifteen feet away, Sarah could see Chuck just barely hold back his words. She guessed he had been ready to protest, to insist that she stay. Because he knew she’d want to stay and protect him. But because of the cover, that wouldn’t work. So he just nodded. 

“Okay, then, you three,” Mauser said, gesturing towards the doors. “This way. Come on.” 

Ellie and Devon stepped forward slowly, Ellie glancing at Sarah as they passed. Taking a deep breath, Sarah followed them, even though her feet felt like they were encased in cement. They felt that heavy as she walked towards the doors. 

But before she left, she needed a moment with Chuck. Taking advantage of the cover, Sarah stopped when she reached Chuck, Ned and Mauser. She looked at Ned until he stepped back, and then she stood on her tiptoes to hug Chuck. 

Feeling his arms wrap around her made everything fall away for a second. God, she was in so much trouble. 

“Save you later,” she whispered in his ear, the words springing from her lips without any conscious thought. She pulled back and looked at him for a second before she walked out of the store, feeling like a failure. What kind of handler was she? She left her asset alone in a dangerous situation and she might be falling--

Not now, she told herself. Bypassing the police who were swarming around Ellie and Devon, she slipped across the parking lot. She had to get to the Orange Orange. 

Yanking open the door, she made a beeline for the secret door to Castle. She didn’t worry about being quiet as she clattered down the stairs. “Casey?”

“Bartowski’s still in there?” Casey asked, turning from the video screens that displayed Graham and Beckman’s images. 

She nodded. “I had to protect his cover--when the negotiator and the hostage-taker both suggested I go, I couldn’t figure out a way to protest.” 

“Agent Walker, as you were cut off from communications you couldn’t know this, but this situation is not what it appears on the surface,” Graham said. “When Ryerson made his phone call, it wasn’t to his wife. Because not only does Ned Ryerson not have a wife, he doesn’t even exist.” 

As several clearly-faked documents appeared on screen, Sarah felt her stomach drop. 

“Ryerson’s call went to a cell phone in the Buy More parking lot--a cell phone that we’ve been tracking ever since. And that phone is now inside the Buy More,” Beckman said. 

“Mauser,” Sarah said, feeling shocked. “Mauser isn’t a hostage negotiator.” 

“They’re both Fulcrum,” Casey said, his lips twisting. “And now Bartowski’s stuck with him.” 

Her brain had never worked as fast and as efficiently as it did at that moment. “We need to arrange a tactical team. And we need to get a message to Chuck in the Buy More to not go anywhere with Mauser.” 

“There’s no guarantee he would get such a message,” Graham said. “The tac team is on standby. If Mr. Bartowski exits the Buy More under the control of Fulcrum, they will be scrambled.” 

Sarah could think of about a hundred reasons why that plan sucked. Mostly because they weren’t storming in to get Chuck, releasing him from the clutches of Fulcrum. 

“Still, we should attempt to alert Chuck,” Sarah said. “He’s resourceful--he could come up with a plan to get away from Mauser. He’s the one to worry about; I would say that Ryerson is just a flunky.” 

“If you want to alert Bartowski, fine,” Beckman said, sounding annoyed. “But then you and Major Casey will take up positions to watch the Buy More, so you can bring the tactical team up to speed on their arrival. We can’t let the Intersect fall into Fulcrum’s hands.” 

For some reason, hearing such a cold-blooded assessment, hearing that it was all about the Intersect, made Sarah’s blood boil. Hadn’t Chuck done enough to prove his worth to them beyond the Intersect? He had saved her life multiple times already, assisted in the capture of enemy agents and thwarted terrorist plots. He had real potential and they . . . they only saw the Intersect. They didn’t even see Charles Carmichael anymore and that--that was starting to scare her. 

Before she could get her thoughts in order, Casey stepped forward. “Understood. We’ll report in when we know more, General, Director.” 

The moment the video screens went black, he turned on her. “Get your head in the fuckin’ game, Walker. You take the front of the Buy More and I’ll watch the back, in case Fulcrum has a map of the building and decides to get cute.” 

Casey was right. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah. Okay.” She turned and picked up a Smith & Wesson from the small cache they kept in the conference area. 

“They’re full of shit, you know.” 

She glanced at Casey as she loaded her gun and screwed on a silencer. “Be specific?” she asked with a tight smile.

“This whole thing with Bartowski--it’s starting to spiral out of control. We need to get a plan together, ‘cause they’re gonna do whatever they can to keep the Intersect and Bartowski around, even if it means losing Carmichael the boy wonder.” Casey’s voice was gruff, but there was actual worry in his eyes. 

“I know,” Sarah said, hearing the catch in her voice. Feeling affected by having Casey, of all people, give voice to her fears. “We’ll talk once we’ve got Chuck back and gotten rid of Mauser.” 

He nodded and picked up a sniper rifle. Casey was never one for subtlety. “Good luck.”

“Good luck,” she echoed, tucking her gun under her hoodie and then hurrying towards the stairs, fumbling with her phone to send Chuck a text. She was dimly aware of Casey following her. 

It wasn’t something they did normally, wishing each other luck. Sarah hoped that it wouldn’t be a bad omen this time. 

XXX

For once, Southern California didn’t feel pleasant. The onset of darkness had lowered the temperatures even more until it was downright chilly. Add in the hazy drizzle that was falling and it felt more like an evening in Chicago than LA. 

Or maybe it was holding Mauser at gunpoint that made her feel like she was in some kind of old movie, more than the weather. 

For some reason, he was smirking at her as he slowly climbed to his feet, his hands held up in the air. It made her tighten her grip on her gun. What did he have to smirk about? Chuck was safe from Fulcrum.

Not long after she had taken up her position, watching the front of the Buy More, she overheard the police talking about some kind of commotion going on in the Buy More. It appeared that they had taken out Ryerson. Sarah wasn’t sure what happened, but it gave her hope that Chuck had gotten her message. That he was on guard. 

It was a few more hours before anyone came out of the Buy More, although the police and paramedics had hurried in. Daylight had faded away when she saw Mauser walk out of the Buy More, holding Chuck by the elbow. 

Sarah hadn’t waited to end this situation. As Mauser and Chuck sped away in an ambulance, she shot out their tires. It wasn’t ideal, because Chuck could get hurt, but she had to stop that vehicle. 

And when she saw Chuck push open the rear doors of the ambulance and climb out, her heart leaped into her throat. 

“Get to Castle,” she said, rushing up to him.

“Mauser--Mauser, he’s Fulcrum, I flashed--” Chuck looked at her, his eyes wide. 

“I know,” Sarah said, sparing a moment to rest a hand on his shoulder, even as she saw Mauser run away from the ambulance, in the direction of a stand of Christmas trees priced for last-minute sale. “I’m going after him. Call Casey and tell him where I’m going and then lock yourself in Castle. Now, Chuck!” 

She couldn’t wait any longer to go after the Fulcrum agent. Taking off, Sarah ran into the Christmas tree lot, drawing her gun and moving through the rows of trees. The ground was slick with water and fallen pine needles, so when Mauser came up behind her, her footing wasn’t steady enough when she lashed out to kick him. 

They went down, scuffling and punching. For a moment, he got the upper hand and started choking her. Even as her vision went dark, Sarah struggled to get free. To do her job and arrest him. To keep Chuck safe. 

Breaking free, she turned the tables. But now that she was the one with the gun on him, now that he was beaten, he had that damn smirk on his face. 

“Don’t look so pleased, Mauser,” Sarah said, adjusting her grip as he rose to his feet. “A team will be here in five minutes and you’ll have a life of solitary confinement ahead of you. I wouldn’t seem so happy about that myself, if I was in your shoes.” 

“That’s not gonna happen to me, Agent Walker,” he said. “Oh, yeah, we know who you are. What did you expect, when a whole Fulcrum cell disappeared from that store?” he asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of the Buy More. “We’ve been watching you ever since.”

Sarah cursed silently. Losing operatives like Alexis White must have been a blow to Fulcrum. Of course they would have tried to figure out how they had lost their team. 

“So?” she said, hiding her dismay behind a mask of nonchalance. “You won’t be able to tell Fulcrum anything.” 

“You think so?” If it was possible, his smirk got even more arrogant. “I’m not like all the rest. Fulcrum won’t let me rot in some cell. I’m too important. They’re gonna get me out, and when they do, I’ll tell them all about Agent Walker and Chuck Bartowski.”

Maybe Mauser thought Chuck was an innocent bystander. That he was just her boyfriend, a civilian who didn’t know what his girlfriend did. “Chuck is just a guy,” she said, her voice firm and unwavering. “He’d be useless to Fulcrum.” 

Mauser let out a caustic laugh. “Oh, I disagree. Because Chuck Bartowski is the Human Intersect. I hit a button on this watch and Fulcrum knows I’ve been captured. And they’re gonna retrieve me.” Mauser gestured towards the clunky timepiece on his wrist, then snickered. “Although maybe I already pushed the button. Maybe Fulcrum’s already surrounding this place. Maybe we’ve already got Bartowski.” 

No. No, that couldn’t be possible. Mauser was just trying to get to her. To make her lose her focus. She couldn’t give in. Couldn’t let him throw her. 

“Cut the crap, Mauser.” 

He shook his head. “It’s not crap, Agent Walker. Fulcrum knows I have intel and they won’t rest until I can tell them what I know.” 

Fulcrum was a bunch of determined bastards. Especially when it came to the Intersect. Mauser was right: if he knew something about the Intersect, his superiors would break him out. And then . . . Chuck’s cover would be blown. It’d be a repeat of what happened with Longshore, only this time, she wouldn’t be able to keep him out of a bunker. He’d disappear and she would never see him again. And in the guise of protecting the Intersect, of having it under their control and at their disposal, the CIA and NSA would keep the Chuck personality in place. 

So in reality, it would be two people vanishing: Chuck Bartowski and Charles Carmichael. 

Mauser let out a little laugh. “At a loss for words, Agent Walker? Too--” 

Whatever he was going to say went with him to his grave. Because she shot three bullets into him. He dropped to the ground, his face blank. Not surprised that she had shot him, not upset or scared or anything. Just . . . blank. 

For a long moment, she didn’t move. Stayed still, with her gun pointing where Mauser had been, a thin tendril of smoke escaping the barrel. The rain pattered on the top of her head and her shoulders, making her feel cold. 

Or maybe it was from shooting an unarmed, defenseless man. 

But she had to do it. It was to protect Chuck. To let him stay here, safe and with his family, where he needed to be. There were only three months left and it was Christmas. To cut short this mission, to deprive him of what he wanted most . . . she couldn’t do that to him. She wouldn’t let it happen to him. 

There was plenty of blood on her hands. What was a bit more? And besides, it was time to face facts. As much as she wanted Chuck, she could never have him. Not because he would be gone in a few months, but because he was too good for her. 

Any man who was as good and sweet and kind as Chuck, intelligent and handsome--yes, he was handsome with his eyes and his curls and his smooth, warm skin--and funny and friendly, he deserved an amazing woman. Someone who could be as loving and giving as he was, someone who could make him feel good about himself without saying it was to protect a cover. And Sarah Walker wasn’t that woman. 

She was probably going crazy, thinking about Chuck like this. He was just a made-up person, overlaid on top of Charles Carmichael’s real self, someone designed to be normal and ordinary. Chuck Bartowski was some product of Carmichael’s imagination and her own insane need to . . . well, she didn’t know. But clearly she was insane. 

Slowly lowering her arm, Sarah took a deep breath. She would need to find Casey and get his help to dispose of Mauser’s body. They’d need to report in to Graham and Beckman. And then there was checking up on Chuck, making sure he was okay. 

All before she would spend Christmas Day with him and his family, while trying not to think about how close he came to having a very different kind of Christmas. 

End, Chapter 11


	12. Chapter 12

Something was not right. Actually, many things. But the most important problem was what was going on with Chuck. 

Sarah glanced at Chuck as he went through the overnight intelligence reports, finishing off the coffee he had come into Castle with before moving on to the cup that Sarah had brought with breakfast. She had never seen him drink two cups of coffee in a row and he never usually gulped it like this. 

Over the last two weeks, ever since Christmas, something had been different with Chuck. The dark circles under his eyes kept getting deeper and he had been drinking more Red Bull. It’d be one thing if she thought he was pulling all-nighters to play videogames, but she knew that wasn’t the case, thanks to the surveillance videos from his bedroom. 

And watching those videos and violating his privacy made her feel bad, but she had to know what was going on. Especially because he wasn’t talking to her. 

Ever since she had noticed how tired he looked, she had been trying to give him chances to tell her what was wrong: asking him questions about his day, bringing him yogurt during his Buy More shifts, even offering to watch him play whatever game had him looking so exhausted. But nothing had worked. He’d stayed clammed up like an oyster around a pearl. 

She had the feeling that she was going to have to step things up. This morning, Chuck was still asleep when Casey arrived to drive him to Castle. Ellie had needed to wake him up, and once she got him out the door, Ellie had called Sarah. 

“His caffeine intake is way up, he’s jittery and distracted all the time--this isn’t good for him, Sarah. And he won’t talk to me about it. I think it must be something spy-related,” Ellie had said, her voice hushed and worried. 

“I’ve tried getting him to talk to me, but he won’t,” Sarah said. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“We need to find out, because he can’t go on like this.” 

Blowing out a sigh, Sarah nodded. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. Thanks for calling, Ellie.” 

“Of course, Sarah. By the way, do you want to come over for dinner tonight? Maybe you can get Chuck relaxed enough to talk to you.” 

Honestly, she was feeling uncertain and unsteady enough that she didn’t really have any confidence she could put Chuck at ease. Not when she was still trying to cope with the feelings she had realized he harbored for her still and how those feelings made her feel. How those feelings made her act. 

Because in retrospect, shooting Mauser was not a smart decision. Not because the bosses were upset with her--they weren’t. In fact, that had been easy to deal with: a few words about “protecting the asset” and “eliminating an enemy agent who would never reveal what he knew” had been enough to satisfy Graham and Beckman. 

No, she regretted doing it because none of those reasons had crossed her mind when she pulled the trigger. All she had been thinking about was losing Chuck. 

“Shake it up, Bartowski--your shift starts soon,” Casey said, walking by the conference table dressed in his Buy More uniform. 

Chuck visibly jumped, scattering the papers he had held in his hand.

“Smooth,” Casey snorted. “Move it.” 

“Yeah, Casey,” Chuck said, standing up and starting to gather the papers. Glancing at the clock, Sarah saw that there was actually a few minutes before Chuck had to report to work. It might not be enough time, but at least she could get something started. So she reached out and took his arm, stopping him. 

“Casey, go ahead.” She looked at Chuck and lowered her voice. “Can I talk to you?”

It wasn’t her imagination that Chuck seemed to flinch just a little bit, was it? She tried to smile at him. “It’ll only take a minute.” 

“Um . . . sure, Sarah. Okay,” he said. “Casey, I’ll see you at work.” 

With a grunt, Casey walked up the stairs, his footsteps fading as he left Castle. Leaving Sarah alone with Chuck in silence. 

This was ridiculous. And getting a little too much like how it was when Lou was in the picture for her comfort. Sarah attempted to give Chuck a better smile. “Are you doing okay?” 

For a split second he looked into her eyes, but it wasn’t nearly long enough for her to figure out what he was feeling. Then he ducked his head. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” 

The frustration felt like it was crushing her. She didn’t like this at all. And she wasn’t going to repeat the mistakes she had made before--she had already done too much of that. Sarah straightened her shoulders, feeling a new spark of determination. 

“I don’t think that’s true, Chuck,” she said softly. “Please, talk to me.” 

“Everything’s fine, Sarah. Really.” He met her eyes again, this time letting her see some of his irritation, before he turned away. “I have to get to work.” 

He was halfway up the stairs before she found her voice. “Ellie invited me over for dinner tonight.” 

“You talked to Ellie?” Chuck asked, stopping on the stairs to look down at her. 

“She called me because she’s worried about you,” Sarah said, coming to the foot of the stairs. “Just like I am.” She paused, not wanting things to end on this bad note. “I won’t come if you don’t want me to. I can call Ellie and say something’s come up.” 

Sarah could see him struggling with himself. It made her feel lonely, shut out--and wasn’t that a strange reaction? She didn’t know him that well--so well that she could guess how he would react to something. But apparently, she had thought she knew Chuck that well. 

“No . . .” he said slowly. “Ellie would ask a lot of questions about why you weren’t there.” He rubbed the toe of his sneaker against the edge of the stairs. “And maybe you’re right. We--we can talk tonight, okay?”

Nodding, she gave him a small smile. “Okay. I’ll see you later.” 

He didn’t smile back, just gave a little shrug of his shoulders before he left. And that made her heart sink. 

XXX

As she stood with Chuck and Casey, listening to Graham and Beckman, Sarah hoped this briefing wouldn’t cut into her plans for tonight. Because the more she thought about it, the more she knew she had to talk to Chuck. She needed to know what was wrong with him and she wanted to help lift the burden from his shoulders. Get him back to being himself.

Because she did care about Chuck. His health, his safety . . . those things were important to her. And anything more than that was something she shouldn’t be thinking about during a briefing. 

“Sasha Banacek is a former KGB operative. We believe that Fulcrum has hired her in order to complete a top-secret project, one that we only recently learned of,” Graham said. 

“Which is?” Casey asked, taking a sip of coffee. 

Beckman heaved a sigh. “Their own version of the Intersect.” 

Casey choked on his coffee while Chuck looked dumbstruck, his eyes the size of dinner plates. Even Sarah felt her mouth drop open. “Excuse me?” she asked. “Did you just say that Fulcrum has been building their own Intersect?” 

“The Fulcrum agents you captured with the assistance of Cole Barker are finally choosing to talk,” Beckman said. “Only a few field operatives were aware of Fulcrum’s plans, due to the high level of secrecy over this project.” 

“Banacek was hired to locate the Cipher, which is the brain of the Intersect. We believe it’s the only piece they lack to implement their Intersect,” Graham said, his voice full of doom. “Banacek has gained access to an earlier version of the Cipher and is set to exchange it for her final payment. We need you to swap the earlier Cipher with the one we will provide you, one that will damage Fulcrum’s Intersect.” 

“Why not let her hand over the real thing, then follow Fulcrum?” Casey said. 

“The important thing is destroying any Intersect that Fulcrum has created,” Beckman said crisply. “Dismantling Fulcrum will be much easier if their hopes for their Intersect are dashed.” 

It did make a kind of sense, Sarah conceded. If the Intersect didn’t work, what did Fulcrum have left? She couldn’t imagine how much money the U.S. government had poured into the Intersect; Fulcrum’s pockets couldn’t be as deep, so failing to create an Intersect of their own would cripple the terrorist organization. 

Still . . . it seemed pretty dangerous to not just swoop in and take out Fulcrum, once and for all. Not when they were so close to creating something that would give them a huge advantage. 

“There’s one problem,” Graham said. “Banacek is a master at disguise and camouflage. To find her, we will need the help of an agent who is currently off-the-grid. We want you to find Roan Montgomery so he can tell us what he knows about Banacek.” 

It had to be her imagination, but Sarah was pretty sure Beckman sat up a bit straighter at the sound of Montgomery’s name. She had heard stories about Beckman and Montgomery--it would appear that the stories were true. 

On the other hand, Casey looked like he had just gotten an unexpected shot of vanilla syrup in his black coffee. “Montgomery? Seriously? He’s a joke.” 

“He put Banacek in a Bulgarian prison for seven years. He’s the expert we need in order to find her,” Graham said, his voice firm. 

“We will locate Montgomery and proceed from there,” Sarah said, taking over before Casey and Graham got into some kind of pissing contest. 

Without a word, Graham ended the video conference. Casey’s mouth was still twisted in a sneer. “Montgomery. Great. Next thing you know, you two will have to be fake married instead of fake dating.” 

The last thing she needed was Casey commenting on the cover relationship, especially when things were so shaky with Chuck right now. Fortunately, Chuck stepped in. “He doesn’t seem so bad from the flash I got. I mean, in that James Bond ladykiller kind of way.”

“Exactly. What kinda spy uses charm instead of a gun?” Casey sounded disgusted, like Montgomery’s lack of weapons prowess was a personal affront to him. 

She could see that Chuck was trying very hard not to laugh, but Sarah wasn’t able to hold back a soft snort. And that set Chuck off, because he threw his head back and laughed. And God, it felt so good to laugh together. 

“Damn CIA,” Casey grumbled, stalking off towards his desk. 

Recovering after one more snort of laughter, Sarah turned to Chuck. “You said you flashed? Do you have any idea where Montgomery might be?” 

He nodded. “Montgomery is listed on the deed for a house in Palm Springs. It might be a good place to check out.” 

“Sounds good,” Sarah said. “We can go there first thing in the morning.” She looked at her watch and back at him. “Ready to go? I hope we’re not too late for dinner.”

And like that, the easiness between them evaporated and Chuck seemed tense. But he nodded and followed her out of Castle and to her car. 

XXX

Dinner being only slightly awkward was something to be grateful for. It was mostly thanks to Ellie and Devon, who kept the conversation going with stories about work and their upcoming anniversary trip to the East Coast. Ellie’s ongoing nervousness about being around her in-laws gave Sarah hope. Because if Ellie, a woman who seemed to have her life figured out, had nerves about her in-laws, it made Sarah feel like less of a screw-up. 

She kept trying to figure herself out, looking for insight into what she was feeling. But list-making wasn’t working this time. For now, she had to put aside her own emotions and focus on getting through to Chuck. Helping him see that he could open up to her, that she would listen to whatever what bothering him. 

Once she finished helping Devon with the dishes, during which he regaled her with stories about his latest whitewater rafting trip, Sarah glanced at her watch. “I better get going,” she said regretfully. “I have a busy day tomorrow. Chuck, want to walk me out to my car?” She smiled at him, trying to act as if the question was as pointless as it should be for a couple of their standing. 

Even with the weirdness going on with him, Chuck knew how to play his part. He adopted a put-upon air that was sure to seem forced--which was the whole point. “I guess so, if you make it worth my while.” 

“Oh, I will,” she said, giving Devon a quick hug and kissing Ellie’s cheek. “Thank you for a lovely dinner.”

“Of course! You’re always welcome, Sarah. You don’t need to wait for an invitation,” Ellie said, smiling brightly. But the older woman’s eyes were shadowed; Sarah could see her worry for Chuck in them. 

Sarah gave Ellie a smile, trying to tell her that it was going to be okay, before she turned and took Chuck’s hand. They walked out into the courtyard, and as soon as Devon closed the door behind them, Chuck dropped her hand. 

Trying not to let it bother her, Sarah spoke softly. “Do you think we could talk now?” 

“Yeah . . . yeah, I guess now works,” he said, taking a seat on the ledge surrounding the pretty fountain in the center of the courtyard. She knew it was a special spot for Chuck, someplace he liked to to sit while talking to Ellie or Morgan. Given how he was the one pulling away, the fact that he was picking someplace he felt comfortable for their conversation was a good sign. At least, she hoped it was. 

She eased down next to him and rested her hands on her knees. For a few moments, there was just the sound of the fountain behind them and the muted hum of traffic. Breathing in and out slowly, Sarah prepared herself and turned to Chuck, just as he turned to her. 

“Chuck--”

“Sarah--” 

It was a little bit silly to blush at that, wasn’t it? But she could feel her cheeks going pink, especially when Chuck smiled and ducked his head. “You first,” she said, wanting this to be about him. About whatever was bothering him. 

“No, you--you go ahead,” he said, gesturing to her. “Ladies first.” 

“All right,” she said slowly, gathering her thoughts. “I--I’ve noticed that since Christmas, you’ve . . . you’ve been acting differently. And I just--if something happened, I want to know what it is, so I can help you. Because you don’t seem very happy and you always look tired, so . . . so I just wanted to ask if you’re okay.”

Watching him react to her words, Sarah felt like she was standing at a precipice. It was cliched and trite, but that was how it felt. Like his response meant more than just knowing what was going on with him. If he chose to push her away, to not trust her . . . it would hurt. She just knew it. Over the last nine months, they had slowly built a relationship. Not the kind that Chuck wanted, but it was a relationship. And any relationship--romantic, professional, friendly--was based on trust. So if Chuck didn’t trust her now . . . it must be her fault. But what had she done? 

Chuck took a deep breath. “This--this might make you mad at me. Actually, you’ll definitely be mad. But, on Christmas Eve--I didn’t go back to Castle. I saw you shoot that Fulcrum agent.”

She blinked. “What?”

Like a dam bursting, Chuck’s words tumbled out. “On Christmas Eve, I--I didn’t go back to Castle. I called Casey and then I followed you in case you needed help. Which is stupid, because you don’t need help. You’re Sarah. But--but I saw you shoot Mauser in cold blood. He was giving up and you--you--” 

It was hard to say what was worse: his words, so full of confusion and worry, or his eyes. Because in his eyes, she could see just how scared he was. Scared of her.

“You shot him, Sarah,” Chuck said, his eyes wide and sad. “And--and I’ve been having nightmares about it, which isn’t fair to you, I know, because I know you would never do that to me, but I just don’t understand how you could do that. How someone like you could just . . . just kill him like that.”

With each word he spoke, it was like he was putting another brick of embarrassment or guilt or shame in front of her. Building a wall high enough and wide enough to keep her away from him, to keep him safe from her. Because that’s what he should do: hold her at arm’s length and count the days until this long, crazy year was over and he could go back to his real life. 

Shoving aside the truth, that when this year was over Chuck Bartowski wouldn’t exist anymore, Sarah rubbed her hands against her jeans. “I could do it because I’m a spy,” she said softly. “Because it’s one of the things I’ve been trained to do. Because sometimes, you have to do something like that when you’d rather not. But more than that--” she said, lifting her head to look at him, “I could do it because I was protecting you.” 

Immediately he looked contrite. “I’m sorry, Sarah, but--but still, did you have to--”

“Yes,” she interrupted. “I did. You didn’t hear what he said, did you?” 

When Chuck shook his head, Sarah went on. “He was threatening you, Chuck. Saying that Fulcrum had sent him to find the Intersect, and if he was put into custody, Fulcrum would stop at nothing to break him out.” 

Chuck swallowed, looking uncomfortable. She kept going, unable to hold back. Unable to protect him from this element of the spy life. “Do you realize what that means? Fulcrum would have killed a lot of good agents in order to free Mauser. And once they had him back, once he told them that he knew you were the Intersect--they’d come after you. They might hurt Ellie or Devon or Morgan to get to you. And once they had you . . .” 

Sarah paused, needing her next words to matter. So he could understand just why she had killed Mauser. “Chuck, if Fulcrum had an Intersect of their own, whether it’s one they’ve created or one they get by capturing you, it would give them a huge edge in this fight. An edge we can’t let them have. Just like we can’t lose you. Because they would hurt you, Chuck. And I don’t want that to happen to you.” 

Looking away, she rubbed her hands over her face and through her hair. “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m sorry you’ve been having nightmares. But . . . but this is part of what I do, and I do it to protect you, to protect this country.” She turned her head to look at him. “In just a few months, this will all be over and you can forget all about this. About me.” 

And as soon as the words left her mouth, she felt like she had been punched in the gut by the sadness that coursed through her. Because he didn’t realize just how true her words were. 

He gazed at her, looking thoughtful. “I seriously doubt that,” he said, his voice just as soft as hers. “I’m sorry, Sarah.” 

“Do you understand now?” she asked. “Why I did it?” 

To her surprise, Chuck reached out and wrapped his arms around her. It wasn’t as tight a hug as the one he had given her on Christmas Eve, but it felt even better now. To be drawn in against his chest, close to him and safe. 

Hopefully, he really wanted to hug her and wasn’t doing it for the cover. But as she hugged him back, she found she didn’t care as long as she got to stay right here for a moment. A moment she wished could be endless.

XXX

Sarah watched as Roan Montgomery, living legend, poured himself a martini. Given the condition he had been in when they had arrived at his house, she wasn’t sure it was a good idea. He must still have plenty of alcohol in his system, even with the cups of black coffee and the half-hour under a scalding hot shower. 

But at least he wasn’t passed out anymore. And as long as he was able to help them track down Sasha Banacek, she didn’t really care if he continued the process of making his liver look like camouflage, in Chuck’s words. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Chuck as he stared at Montgomery. She wasn’t quite sure what his expression meant: it seemed to be equal parts horror and admiration. 

“Finding Sasha Banacek is the easy part,” Montgomery said. “The real mission is gaining access to her hotel room. That is what you need, Agent Walker?” 

“Yes, Agent Montgomery,” she said, holding back a sigh. They had gone over the mission specs with Montgomery thoroughly, but clearly his air of boredom as they explained everything hadn’t been an act. “We need to get into her hotel room, find the Cipher, and swap it with the fake one.” 

“Then you’ll need someone to seduce her.” Montgomery looked at Chuck and smirked. “Feel up to the challenge, Mr. Bartowski?” 

“What?!? Me?!?” Sarah was pretty sure Chuck hit an octave he hadn’t reached since before puberty. But she was equally shocked at Montgomery’s suggestion.

“Um, Agent Montgomery, Chuck isn’t an agent--he hasn’t had seduction training, or any training for that matter,” Sarah said, stumbling a little over her words. 

“Which is why I’m here,” Montgomery said, swirling his martini around in his glass. “To teach young Charles here how to woo women. Now, to begin: how to drink a martini.” Montgomery demonstrated, tossing back the whole martini easily. He then gave each of them a self-satisfied smile. “A moment to master, a lifetime to perfect.”

“I think we should check in with Graham and Beckman first--” Sarah began to say, only for Montgomery to cut her off. 

“Charles, are you gay?”

Chuck blinked, then shook his head. 

“Good. And you have had intercourse, yes?” 

Now Chuck looked annoyed, but he nodded his head. 

“Then I can teach him, Agent Walker. Sasha Banacek has a type. Neither you nor Agent Casey fit that type. Therefore, it’s up to Charles to do the job,” Montgomery said, sounding bored.

“What’s her type?” Chuck asked, sounding curious and worried. 

“Tall, dark and handsome.” Montgomery eyed Chuck and smirked. “Two out of three will have to do. Although perhaps you’d be handsome in a good suit.” 

She could see Chuck flush with embarrassment. On his behalf, she had to speak up. “If we’re going through with this, which is against my better judgement, Chuck will be more than capable in performing his part in the mission.” 

“Is that so?” Montgomery asked, picking up his shaker. “Very well. Kiss her.” 

Now it was her turn to blink. Blink and feel her stomach drop to somewhere around her knees. 

It was one thing, the little pecks they exchanged to preserve their cover. Even having to act like they were in the middle of a hot and heavy makeout session was about making it look good, not about making it feel real. But this? This would be full-on kissing, something to prove that Chuck could do the job. 

And Sarah wasn’t sure how she felt about getting kissed like that by Chuck. 

Which was ridiculous, she told herself. After all, she had kissed Carmichael and he was no slouch in that department. But she couldn’t help feeling that it would be different to kiss Chuck. To kiss someone that she cared about and to have that someone, who also cared about her or at least used to care about her, kiss her back. 

The truth was . . . she wanted to kiss Chuck for real. Wanted to know what it felt like. There wasn’t much time left and each day that passed was a lost chance. She knew what the rules were for handlers and assets. She had frequently explained them to Chuck, for God’s sake. But just once, she wanted to kiss him. 

Sarah looked at Chuck, wondering how he would respond to Montgomery’s demand. He looked nervous, but there was something else going on, something she couldn’t figure out. She wasn’t sure if it was because they were still slightly out of sync after their talk last night or if he was getting better at hiding what he was thinking and feeling. She hoped it was the first option, because she didn’t like the idea of Chuck changing. 

“I . . . I don’t think that’s necessary, do you?” Chuck asked, glancing quickly at Sarah before turning back to Montgomery. “I’m good in that department. I’ve never gotten complaints.” 

Montgomery rolled his eyes like a teenager being denied the keys to the family car. “Bartowski, I need to see what I’m working with here. If you can’t charm Agent Walker, how are you going to do so with Sasha Banacek?” 

As Chuck and Montgomery argued, Sarah wondered why Chuck was hesitating so much. Yes, he wasn’t much for PDA and this was an embarrassing situation. But they both knew this wasn’t that different from what they did in their cover relationship. So why was Chuck so reluctant to kiss her? 

The sound of Chuck’s frustrated voice broke through her thoughts. “You really want me to kiss her?” 

“Desperately!” Montgomery said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Fine!” Chuck said. He turned and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to her feet. And then his lips were on hers and his hands were holding her face and . . .

It was hot. There was no denying that. Hot and grasping and needy, hands touching hair and skin but not venturing much below their shoulders. They were both in the moment, kissing and putting on a show. 

At least, Chuck was, she thought. Sarah couldn’t give herself over, though. Maybe it was the surprise. Not just that Chuck had fallen into Montgomery’s trap. But because . . . this didn’t feel like a first kiss. 

Chuck had moves. And there was definitely some feelings behind this kiss. But--but all she could think of was the dingy motel room in the Dominican Republic and kissing Carmichael. Because this kiss didn’t feel that different from when she had leaned over and pressed her lips against Carmichael’s. 

How was that possible? How could two men with such different personalities, in the same body, kiss nearly identically? With the same kind of feeling and emotion? 

She must be going crazy. It almost made her glad when Chuck pulled back, shooting a look that she could only describe as triumphant at Montgomery. 

Montgomery looked faintly impressed and very, very amused. “Bravo.” 

Clearing her throat, Sarah tried to act unaffected. “Time is of the essence. We need to find Banacek so we can put a mission together.” 

“What luxury hotels in this godforsaken city have piano bars? Check the surveillance camera footage from them and you’ll find Banacek,” Montgomery said. 

Finally. An excuse to get out of this house, get back to Castle, and get far away from all these questions she couldn’t answer. To focus on the problems she could solve. 

“We need to get to Castle, then,” Sarah said. “Agent Montgomery, we need you to come with us to our base in Burbank.” 

“Let me just make some martinis for the road,” he said, picking up the shaker. 

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Sarah nodded and waited for Montgomery to finish mixing his drinks. She glanced over at Chuck, who seemed to be lost in thought. But when he seemed to sense her eyes on him and looked towards her, she looked away. 

XXX

Sarah shifted in her seat in the surveillance van, parked outside the Peninsula Hotel in Beverly Hills. According to security camera footage, this was where Sasha Banacek was staying. They were just waiting for Banacek to leave her room and head to the Club Bar, as she had the previous two evenings, before sending Chuck in. 

The man in question was sitting to her left, trying not to wrinkle the three-piece suit he was wearing. It was perhaps a little too buttoned-up, but Sarah’s opinion didn’t matter here. Montgomery had looked Chuck over and pronounced him acceptable to Banacek, so that was all that mattered. 

Still, Sarah was worried. There were plenty of agents who couldn’t handle seduction missions and more that avoided them whenever possible. So sending in Chuck to seduce Banacek seemed too risky to her. A lot was being put on his shoulders--too much. This was going too far, and she could just bet that Graham and Beckman had wanted Chuck to be out in the field like this. Because they were testing the waters to keep the Chuck personality in place and turn him into a real spy. And that was something Chuck didn’t want and didn’t think he could do. 

But then, Chuck kept surprising her. He soaked up knowledge in unexpected ways and had managed to pull off hostage negotiation. It was likely he’d be able to handle seduction just like he’d handled other elements of spycraft. And with Montgomery to prompt him over comms and Casey already in place as a bartender, Chuck would probably be able to get through this. But she was going to do her best to protect him, too.

Montgomery was rattling off last-minute reminders to Chuck while she watched the video monitors. When she saw Banacek cross the lobby, she turned on her mike. “Casey, heads-up. Banacek is approaching the bar.” 

“Copy,” Casey said as Sarah brought up the bar’s video cameras on the larger displays. Then she turned to look at Chuck. 

“Ready to go?” she asked, fighting the urge to adjust his tie. It was perfectly knotted already, and with Montgomery in the van she didn’t want to reveal too much. 

Chuck took a deep breath. “I think so. I mean . . . no one looks at Chuck Bartowski and thinks one of the world’s greatest lovers. But it’s for the mission, right?” 

When he gave her a small, worried smile, Sarah felt like she understood just how it felt to have your heart break. Because that might have just happened, hearing him try not to reveal his nerves so that he could do what he was being asked to do. Something that should have never been asked of him. 

There was a spot of lint on his shoulder. She gently picked it off and kept her eyes focused on his suit as she said softly, “You can do this.” 

“Enough chit-chat,” Montgomery said. “Go get her, Charles.” 

“You’ve got the Cipher?” she asked as she moved her chair so Chuck could get out of the van.

“Yep,” he said, patting his chest over his heart and gesturing to the inner pocket of his jacket. “I’m coming in, Casey,” Chuck said through the mike in his watch. 

“Good luck, everyone,” Sarah said over comms, taking up position in front of the monitors. Montgomery moved his chair over, leaning back and sipping his martini. 

There was silence except for the noises transmitted by Chuck and Casey’s microphones. Then Montgomery leaned forward and tapped the button on the console that would turn off the mikes in the van. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Agent Walker.” 

She glanced at him for a split-second before returning her eyes to the monitors. “I don’t know what you’re referring--” 

“The goo-goo eyes. And not just on Charles’s part, either. If you’re falling for your quote-unquote asset--”

“I have a strictly professional relationship with Mr. Bartowski, Agent Montgomery,” Sarah said, cutting him off as he had interrupted her while wondering what he meant by ‘quote-unquote asset.” “He doesn’t have the training to do what he’s been asked to do, so of course he needs additional support and validation.” 

Montgomery snorted a little and sipped his martini. “He seems very capable to me.” 

“That’s a change in tune since you met him,” Sarah said icily. 

“Or the fact that I recognize Charles Carmichael,” Montgomery said. 

Oh, crap. Sarah’s eyes widened before she quickly schooled her expression. But on the inside, she was freaking out. Of course Montgomery would have looked at Chuck and remembered Carmichael. The man might be a gin-soaked letch, but he was still a spy. 

“I must say, he’s maintaining his cover flawlessly,” Montgomery said. “You’d expect nothing less of Carmichael, but he’s really very convincing as this nebbishy Bartowski character. Except for not liking kissing.” 

Her relief at Montgomery not guessing the truth made her slip up and ask something she shouldn’t want to know. “What do you mean, not liking kissing?” 

“Carmichael could handle seduction up to the point where he had to kiss the mark. Then he always fell apart. Got lost in the moment, too caught up to finish the job.” Montgomery smirked. “I very nearly flunked him for it, but somehow he managed to get over it and pass with flying colors.”

Sarah swallowed and made herself look at the monitors, where Chuck was doing his best to seduce Sasha Banacek. She almost wished that Montgomery was right, that it was really Charles Carmichael in there, pretending to be Chuck Bartowski. At least that way, she wouldn’t have to deal with all this confusion about just who he was. And she would know who she wanted. 

XXX

As she listened to Chuck Bartowski follow rule four and be an asshole, she probably shouldn’t be feeling flustered. Shouldn’t be thinking of just how amazing a job he was doing, shouldn’t be wishing she was in Sasha Banacek’s shoes. 

But deep down . . . all Sarah could think was damn, Chuck was really, really good at this. 

Or was it really Chuck? Could this be another sign of Carmichael slipping through? Showing off what he already knew of seduction, the years of experience he had at being a spy? 

No. No, that couldn’t be it. This had to be Chuck. Clearly, he had some secret, innate ability to sway women to his will. After all, in the suit he was wearing tonight and with his hair styled, he was very attractive. And a woman like Sasha Banacek would respond to a handsome man who was mean to her. Not that Chuck was being mean. More . . . forceful. Strong, uncompromising, determined. 

Sarah swallowed. This was definitely not how she should be thinking. She couldn’t let herself be distracted by her crazy fantasies when she was in the middle of a mission. With the amount of liquor that Montgomery had thrown back, he would be useless if Chuck needed back-up. 

While Chuck waited for Sasha to finish changing into “something more comfortable”--and really, was there a more tired line than that when you had invited a man to your room?--Sarah checked her knife holster. 

“Stop worrying, Agent Walker,” Montgomery said, his voice slightly slurred. “Carmichael’s got it under control.”

“You need to call him Bartowski,” Sarah snapped. “We can’t risk his identity being compromised.” 

“Fine, fine,” Montgomery said, descending into a sullen silence. Sarah wasn’t sure if that was a blessing or not, since it left her free to listen. 

Everything seemed to be going well, all things considered. Chuck had searched Banacek’s room while she was changing, but he reported he hadn’t found the Cipher. But when Banacek announced her presence, Sarah could hear something in his voice. When his words trailed off, she nearly cursed. He must have flashed. 

Hopefully, the flash told him where the Cipher was. Because if Chuck had to carry this through . . . 

“Casey?” she whispered into the mike. “Have you moved into position outside Banacek’s room?”

There was no reply. Sarah double-checked that Montgomery hadn’t turned the mikes off a second time and tried again. “Casey?” 

If the comms were out, this could be trouble. Sarah yanked off her headset and turned to Montgomery as she jammed an earwig into position. “I’m going in. Relay anything you see.” 

He gave her a lackadaisical salute and Sarah grimaced. Yanking on the lapels of his suit jacket, she pulled his face in close to hers. She breathed through her mouth, since otherwise she’d get drunk off the fumes. “Listen to me, Montgomery. You fuck this up and your next assignment will be in the Middle East. Someplace where the women wear burqas and alcohol is illegal. You get me?” 

Montgomery snorted. “Goin’ to save your man?” 

“Just watch the monitors,” Sarah said scornfully, letting go of his jacket. “A living legend like you can handle that, can’t you?” 

Without giving Montgomery a backwards glance, she jumped out of the van and headed into the hotel. Not wanting to attract unnecessary attention, she kept her gun tucked into the waistband of her jeans as she headed to the elevator. When she saw that keycard access was required to access Banacek’s floor, Sarah cursed softly and looked for a stairwell. 

With twelve floors to climb, Sarah felt her anxiety rise with each flight of stairs. When she finally reached the correct floor, she had to stop and slow her breathing before she searched for Banacek’s room. 

There were two large, burly men standing guard. Sarah rolled her eyes. Of course. One more thing standing between her and Chuck. 

There was no time to lose, so Sarah didn’t bother with fancy moves. She walked up towards the men and turned to face them. “Excuse me, do you have the time?” 

As soon as one of the men looked towards his wristwatch, Sarah kneed him in the balls. Before the second man had taken more than a step, she turned and fired a one-two combination, her fists punching him in the jaw and the nose. She whirled back to the first man, bringing her knee up into his face this time. He went down, clutching his groin and moaning. The second man got kicked in the solar plexus, sending him back into a large floral arrangement in a tall vase. He hit his head and fell to the floor. 

Pulling her gun out, she aimed two careful shots at the electronic lock. With a soft whir, the lock clicked open and Sarah pushed down on the handle, relieved when the door opened.

When she ran into the room and took in what was happening, Sarah felt her heart freeze. Because Banacek had Chuck pulled in against her chest, both of them facing her. And in Banacek’s hand was a Makarov pistol, pressed against the side of Chuck’s head. 

“Drop it,” Sarah said, pointing her gun at Banacek and trying not to think about how they had failed. There was no way she could sacrifice Chuck in order to get the Cipher. 

“Why? This is why you don’t send boy to do man’s job.” Banacek smirked. “I clean up your mess. Since you are too late.” 

“Sarah, run--she doesn’t have the Cipher!” Chuck’s words ended in a wheeze as Banacek pressed her gun harder into his temple. 

Well, fuck. How the hell had they missed that? If Banacek didn’t have the Cipher anymore, then this whole operation was a waste. But she wasn’t about to let this mistake get worse and let anything happen to Chuck.

“Banacek, we just wanted the Cipher,” Sarah said, holding her gun firmly in her hands and keeping her eyes locked on the female terrorist. “If you don’t have it, then we’re not interested in you right now. Let him go and you’re free to leave town tonight.” 

“Yes, leave town!” Chuck babbled. “Head back to St. Tropez, go listen to Marcel play! That’s so much better than here, isn’t it?” 

Chuck really needed to stop talking. Sarah lowered her gun just a little. “Listen to him, Banacek. You won’t get a better offer.” 

Heaving a deep sigh, Banacek started moving, edging towards the door while keeping Chuck in front of her. It was quite a feat, given the height difference, but Banacek made it look flawless. Sarah matched her steps, slowly rotating until their positions were reversed. 

“Is too bad,” Banacek said with a pout. “Mr. Cartwright, I would have made a man out of you. For the few minutes of your life that you had left. Ah, well.” 

With surprising strength, Banacek shoved Chuck away from her, sending him right into Sarah. They fell to the floor, Chuck’s body slamming down against hers. If it had been any other situation, Sarah would have tried to enjoy the moment. But right now, she was too pissed off at their failure to take the time. 

“Are you okay?” she said to Chuck. He nodded and rolled off her as she pushed at his shoulders. She scrambled to her feet, but she knew it was hopeless. Banacek was long gone. 

“Casey! Montgomery! Banacek is leaving. Where are you?” she barked into her mike, only to receive static through her earwig. 

“There must be some kind of communications jammer on this floor,” Chuck said. She turned to watch him push himself up to his feet. “As soon as she came out of the bathroom, she flipped the switch and my comms went dead.” 

“You flashed, didn’t you?” Sarah asked, running her hands through her hair. 

He nodded. “I knew what the Cipher looked like, but when she came out of the bathroom, she blocked the comms and . . . and I thought the Cipher was on her necklace, but when I grabbed it, she laughed and said I was too late. And then you showed up.” 

Sighing softly, she ran her eyes over him. “You’re okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, sounding tired. “I just want to go home.” 

“We have to find Casey. Hopefully he and Montgomery have nabbed Banacek so we haven’t totally screwed up,” Sarah said, closing her eyes for a moment and trying to calm her whirling mind. 

She jumped a little, her eyes opening, when she felt his hand on her shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked, gazing at her with worried eyes. 

When was the last time someone asked her that when she wasn’t bleeding or otherwise physically injured? Sarah wasn’t sure. But it was nice. She gave him a small smile. “Just tired. C’mon, let’s go see what’s going on downstairs.” 

Sarah turned and headed for the door. She glanced back at Chuck, feeling slightly surprised when he left his hand on her shoulder and kept pace with her. He gazed back at her, then gave her a small smile. And instead of shaking him off or asking him what he was doing, Sarah faced forward and just kept walking, letting him keep his hand where it was. 

And as they walked out of the building towards the van, she realized that she felt a little bit less tired. A little stronger. Ready to face what was ahead. 

XXX

As she followed Casey in her car as he drove Chuck and himself to Echo Park, Sarah reviewed the evening. On the upside, they had captured Sasha Banacek and knew where Fulcrum were building their Intersect. Chuck’s flash in Banacek’s hotel room had also yielded the name Meadow Branch in connection with the Fulcrum Intersect. 

On the downside? Fulcrum had the Cipher and were nearly finished in creating their own Intersect. And Graham and Beckman were not pleased about that. 

The ass chewing hadn’t been pretty. Graham and Beckman had been icily furious over losing the Cipher and how they had missed Banacek making the exchange with Fulcrum. About the only thing they were complimentary of was Chuck’s performance, based on Montgomery’s report. 

And that worried Sarah--and unless she was wrong, Casey didn’t seem too thrilled, either. That was why she was tagging along to their apartments; it seemed like it was time for her and Casey to have a serious talk about what would happen to Chuck/Carmichael when this year was up.

Because her level of trust in Graham and Beckman was pretty low right now and she wasn’t going to let them abuse Chuck. It was high time to find out just where Casey stood on this matter, too. 

Sarah pulled into a parking spot next to Casey’s Crown Vic and climbed out of her Porsche. Chuck was practically swaying on his feet, he was so tired. All the training, on top of his flash, seemed to have taken a lot out of him. She walked around the cars and took Chuck’s arm. “C’mon, time for bed.” 

Chuck nodded and let her walk him towards his apartment. Sarah glanced over her shoulder at Casey, signalling him that she would meet him after she had gotten Chuck secured. Casey nodded and unlocked the door of his apartment. 

“Do you have a morning shift tomorrow?” she asked Chuck as she lead him to the Morgan door. 

“Um . . . no, afternoon,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“It’s an adrenaline crash,” she said sympathetically, helping him climb through the window. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He gave her a sleepy smile and headed straight to his bed, collapsing onto it. 

It was all she could do not to climb in and help him get undressed, so he could be more comfortable. But Casey was waiting . . . and undressing Chuck didn’t seem like a good idea. 

Turning away, she walked over to Casey’s apartment and tapped on the door. The NSA agent opened it up and stood aside so she could come in. “Just got off the phone with Ellie,” he said gruffly. “She’ll be over in a minute.” 

“Ellie?” Sarah asked, taking a seat in one of the chairs that surrounded the plain table in Casey’s dining area. 

“Yep,” Casey said. “Think she could help us with this. ‘Cause I’m not likin’ the way the wind’s blowing.” 

She nodded. “It seems like they really want to keep the Intersect where it is.” 

“Which means keeping Bartowski around,” Casey said, pouring himself a glass of whisky. He lifted the bottle towards her, but she shook her head. 

“Ever since the crap with what’s-his-name, they’ve had the idea in the back of their heads,” Casey said. “Us screwing the pooch and lettin’ Fulcrum get the Cipher gives ‘em all the ammo they need.” 

Hearing her thoughts put into words by Casey of all people was a bit eerie. But it also gave her a feeling of encouragement, to know that Casey felt the same way she did: it wasn’t right for Operation Bartowski to last longer than a year. It wasn’t fair. Not to Chuck and not to Carmichael. 

“I don’t know how we missed Banacek making the drop--” she started to muse, only for an idea to hit her like a punch in the gut. “Casey, what if Beckman and Graham set us up?” 

He frowned, his eyes narrowed. “Gave us bad intel so we thought we had more time?” 

Sarah nodded. “They wanted us to fail, because like you said, they want an excuse to keep the Intersect in Chuck’s head.” 

Casey grunted, just as a knock sounded on the door. “Typical,” he said over his shoulder as he went to let Ellie in. 

Ellie looked sleepy, her hair mussed and wearing a robe. “Hi, John. Sarah, it’s good to see you. What’s going on?” she asked, crossing over to the table. 

The two agents shared a look and Casey stepped away. Sarah knew he was disengaging the surveillance cameras and audio recordings in his apartment. When he gave her a nod, she looked back to Ellie. 

“Ellie, we need to talk to you about Chuck.” 

The sleepiness vanished from Ellie’s eyes. “Is something wrong with him?” she asked, sitting down next to Sarah. 

“Looks like the powers that be wanna keep him the Intersect. For a lot longer than a year,” Casey said, taking a seat as well and sipping his whisky. 

“What? No! Chuck said it would only be for a year--and I told Director Graham that given the previous agents’ results and the lack of hard data, it shouldn’t be for longer than a year!” Ellie’s voice rose as she kept speaking. “Chuck wouldn’t want that. It’s not fair!” 

“Ellie, Ellie, we know,” Sarah said, reaching out to rest a hand on top of hers. “We feel the same way.” 

“You do?” Ellie asked, looking back and forth between Sarah and Casey. When they both nodded, she smiled widely. “I knew I could trust you both to keep Chuck safe! Not just in the physical sense.”

The utter trust and belief Ellie had in them made Sarah feel warm inside. Made her feel like a knot in her chest she didn’t know was there was suddenly loosening. It gave her confidence. Taking a breath, she smiled a little at Ellie. “That’s where you come in, though.”

“Anything,” Ellie said immediately. “As much as I’ve loved having Chuck around this year . . . this isn’t who he is. Not really. So whatever I can do, I’ll do it.”

“What can you do to make it look like his brain’s under too much torque?” Casey asked. “If they have medical reasons for why the Intersect shouldn’t stay in Bartowski’s head, they might change their minds.” 

“To go along with our protests,” Sarah added. 

From her narrowed eyes and wrinkled forehead, Ellie was already contemplating possibilities. “It’ll have to be good--I know there’s doctors in Washington reviewing my reports. But there’s plenty of ways to manipulate the scans. My only concern is if they want to redo the tests themselves.” 

“Cross that bridge when we come to it,” Casey said. “For now, let’s get the evidence put together.”

Sarah nodded in agreement. “In our briefings, Casey and I will make sure to casually mention the strain that’s been put on Chuck lately.” 

“Okay,” Ellie said, giving them a quick smile. “I’ll get to work and let you know how it all goes.” 

“Thank you, Ellie. For helping,” Sarah said, trying not to let too much of her relief show. This had gone better than she had hoped. After all, Ellie was taking a risk. If the CIA found out she faked Chuck’s test results, they could pull strings to make her lose her fellowship, lose her medical license . . . but those thoughts hadn’t seemed to cross her mind at all. As soon as she heard that Chuck was in trouble, Ellie had leaped to her brother’s defense. 

It would be nice to have that, Sarah thought in the back of her mind. 

Confirming her thoughts, Ellie shrugged a little as she stood up. “Of course I’m helping. I just want to make sure Chuck is safe. And that he gets back to the life he wants once this year is up.” 

Casey let out a soft grunt. “Don’t we all.” 

“Good night,” Ellie said, smiling at them before she stepped out of the apartment. Casey stood up and followed her to the door, watching to ensure Ellie returned to her apartment safely. 

And while she did her best to smile and give Ellie a small wave as she left the apartment, Sarah found herself wondering just what life she would be going back to once Operation Bartowski was over. What sort of person she would be after this year. 

It was a question that would require some new lists, she suspected. 

End, Chapter 12


	13. Chapter 13

The only problem with burning the candle at both ends was that you ran out of candle a lot faster. 

The two weeks since the Sasha Banacek mission were full of long days, packed with research and smaller ops. Now that Fulcrum had the critical piece for the Intersect, there was nothing stopping them from putting their Intersect into agents. So it was up to Sarah, Casey and Chuck to make sure that didn’t happen. And all they had to go on was Meadow Branch. 

But they finally knew what it was: a Fulcrum shell company that owned a small housing development of the same name out in the Valley. A community that had several residents who were known or suspected Fulcrum agents. And somewhere in that neighborhood was Fulcrum’s Intersect. 

As soon as they learned that, Sarah had been ready to go into Meadow Branch, guns blazing and shooting to kill. She wanted the target off Chuck’s back, wanted to have Fulcrum gone so that Graham and Beckman wouldn’t have any reason to keep the Intersect in his head. At least, she hoped that the elimination of Fulcrum would make the powers that be realize why they should stick with the original one-year timetable. 

However, such a provocative mission would be difficult to pull off without more intel. They didn’t know what kind of firepower Fulcrum had stashed in the various houses, what the exact identities and skillsets of the resident operatives were, or even which house held the Intersect upload equipment. Until they knew that, guns blazing would have to wait. 

So Sarah and Casey hatched a plan. They would go in undercover. Purchase a house in Meadow Brook, move in and become part of the neighborhood. She and Chuck would be just your average married couple in the suburbs. The mission had to be low-key enough that neither Fulcrum nor the US intelligence agencies were aware of it. As Casey had said, knocking out Fulcrum would be a lot easier if the CIA and the NSA didn’t know it was about to happen. 

Which was why Sarah was currently massaging dark red hair dye into her blonde locks, in order to become the perfect suburban wife. 

Given what Fulcrum probably already knew about Operation Bartowski, disguises were in order. While Casey, in his backup role during the mission, would be able to do hats, wigs and temporary facial hair, there was no way of knowing how long she and Chuck would be undercover. So their appearances had to be altered in a more permanent fashion. 

So instead of Sarah Walker, blue-eyed blonde, and Chuck Bartowski, pasty nerd, they would be Charles and Cynthia Cartwright. Chuck was getting a spray tan right now--much to his vocal displeasure--and would also be slicking his hair back and using hazel contacts. Meanwhile, Sarah was in the process of becoming a green-eyed strawberry blonde. 

Time was of the essence and Sarah wished they could have gotten started on the undercover mission right away. After all, this could be the final mission against Fulcrum. But all their previous hard work had caught up to them and they needed to take a little time to prep. Not just creating new identities and coming up with cover stories for the Cartwrights, either. Sarah knew she needed time to prepare for very close contact with Chuck. 

Operation Bartowski had been in existence for eleven months. Which meant that according to the original schedule, in a few weeks the Intersect and the Chuck personality would be out of Carmichael’s head. And everything would go back to the way it had been before. 

But Sarah didn’t think she could go back. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to. And that raised the question of how she should spend this last month. She had never felt so close to someone as she did to Chuck. All the lists she had made over the last two months presented clear proof that she definitely felt something for Chuck. And although she wasn’t willing to put a name to it, there was something there. 

Yet they could never be together. There were good reasons why a handler and an asset shouldn’t be involved. Romantic relationships usually led to problems, like the handler lowering their guard or the asset taking unnecessary risks. Problems that could lead to somebody getting hurt or even worse. 

But more than that, she just didn’t know how a relationship with Chuck Bartowski might work. Although he had shown how brave and capable he was, he didn’t seem to want a career in espionage. Honestly, he was a bit of a homebody: happiest when he was within an environment he knew and understood. So while she traveled all over the world, fighting terrorists in the Middle East or quelling revolutions in South America, he would stay home and wait for her? That didn’t seem fair to either of them. And long-distance relationships were so difficult. 

Sarah wrinkled her nose as she peeled off her gloves and sat on the edge of the bathtub in her hotel room. The dye only had to sit on her head for ten minutes, but that gave her ten minutes to keep thinking. Ten more minutes for her thoughts to keep swirling back to the big question: how would she get through this mission when she would be so close to Chuck? Because even with all the good, solid, logical reasons why they could never be together . . . she wanted him. 

And this mission might be her last chance.

Standing up, Sarah walked over to her desk and picked up her latest notepad. Perching on the edge of the desk, she gazed at the paper and then started on a pros and cons list. Yet with each con she listed, there remained only one pro: knowing what it would be like to hold Chuck Bartowski in her arms, to be with him without any barriers between them. 

Even with the number of reasons against it, she was tempted until she came up with the biggest con of all: it wasn’t fair. Not to Chuck, who would be gone before they could even really get started. Not to Carmichael, who had lost a year of his life and might lose more if Graham and Beckman had their way. And it wasn’t fair to her. 

She deserved more. If there was one thing this year had confirmed for her, it was that she was more than just a spy. She had needs and desires that weren’t fulfilled by this job, that couldn’t be fulfilled. So it was up to her to figure out how to get what she wanted, what she needed, that wasn’t about work. And although she didn’t know exactly what those needs were yet, she could have more in her life than her job. 

When the alarm on her cell phone rang, alerting her to rinse the dye from her hair, Sarah was startled out of her thoughts. But she knew her decision.

XXX

As Chuck drove the Cartwrights’ Volvo sedan through the streets of the Meadow Brook development, Sarah finished giving him some last-minute instructions. It was strange to look at him and see hazel eyes instead of brown, to see his face and all its angles without his curls softening his features. And if she was thrown by his new look, she knew that he wasn’t used to hers, either. 

In her plaid dress and coordinating cardigan, she certainly felt like a suburban housewife. It wasn’t exactly a look she would normally choose, but it fit the part and that was what mattered. Chuck, on the other hand, looked very stylish in his dark jeans and black v-neck sweater. He looked a lot more pulled together than normal. It was almost like how she’d imagine Carmichael would dress when he wasn’t working. 

“Remember, Chuck, this is all about finding out where Fulcrum has the Intersect. Once we find it, we can destroy it and that will be the end of Fulcrum.” 

Chuck glanced at her as he pulled into the driveway of the Cartwrights’ new home, next to a moving van that was nearly empty. “Just in time, huh? Since the year’s nearly up?” 

Nodding, Sarah tried to seem unaffected by the trace of sadness she heard in his voice. “Yes. Just in time.” 

He switched off the car and took a deep breath. “I guess we have a day of unpacking ahead of us?” 

Sarah couldn’t help a small grin. “Not exactly. The movers would have unpacked and organized everything.” Her grin faded slightly as she noticed a group of people standing on the lawn of the house next door. “It looks like the welcoming committee is waiting for us.” She gave him an encouraging smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Ready to go, Charles?” 

Giving her a small, lazy smile, one that made her stomach flip, he returned her cheek kiss with one of his own. “Ready, Cynthia.” Then he stepped out of the car and gave a friendly wave to their new neighbors.

It didn’t take long for Sarah to feel overwhelmed. What did it say about her that it was easier to socialize with terrorists and drug dealers than ordinary people? Of course, some of Meadow Branch’s residents were Fulcrum agents, but right now everyone was acting like normal suburb dwellers. Plus, she was always worried about whether Chuck would flash and give himself away, even though he had gotten pretty good at hiding his flashes. But that didn’t change her feeling that they were lambs inside the lion’s den. 

Using all the tricks she’d learned over the years, Sarah did her best to stay focused. She chit-chatted with several of the wives, trying to direct the conversation toward what their husbands did. But everyone seemed much more interested in “Cynthia” and her husband. 

“So how long have you two lovebirds been married? It can’t have been that long,” asked an overly-cheerful brunette who had introduced herself as Merry, “Like in Christmas!”

“Just about a year,” Sarah said, smiling a little as she sipped from her glass of overly-sweet, overly-alcoholic punch. 

“I knew it! Your husband can’t take his eyes off you--that wears off after a year or so. Am I right, ladies?” Merry asked, drawing a round of laughter from the other women. 

She glanced over her shoulder at Chuck, who was standing by the grill talking to a few of his fellow husbands. As soon as she saw him, he looked at her and smiled, giving her a little wave. Since she had just established themselves as newlyweds, she gave him a shy smile and a wave back, which made Chuck’s face brighten. 

“Oooh, you two are so sweet!” cried another woman, whose name Sarah had forgotten despite trying to remember it. 

“So sweet,” another woman said in a bored voice, rolling her eyes. 

“Oh, Sylvia, you don’t need to act so jaded,” Merry said, putting on a scolding tone. “We were all young and in love once. Even you!” 

Sylvia let out a huff and turned on her heel, striding over to the drinks table. 

“Don’t let Sylvia get you down,” Merry said quietly, taking Sarah’s arm. “Everyone knows that Sylvia and Cliff have been having problems for years. Watch your husband around Sylvia, too--she makes passes at anything in pants.” Merry sniffed in disgust. 

“Um, thank you?” Sarah said, edging back a little. She pasted a smile on her face. “I think I’m going to go check up on Charles. Make sure he’s taken his medicine today.” 

If Merry was a Fulcrum agent, someone needed to tell her about how to conceal her emotions. Because she clearly was struggling between showing sympathy over Charles’s illness and glee at getting to spread some juicy gossip. “Oh, is he all right? He looks fine. More than fine, if you ask me.” 

What kind of ailment would Merry accept but not ask her any further questions? Wracking her brain, Sarah blurted out, “Spastic colon.” 

“Oh,” Merry said, looking rather disgusted. 

“I know,” Sarah said, feeling the strange urge to defend Chuck against his imaginary condition. “Such a handsome man, but with such a . . . spastic colon.” 

If there was anything that was spastic around here, it was her. Swallowing, Sarah gave Merry a quick smile and then made a beeline for Chuck. 

As she approached the gathered men, one of them called out, in a loud and jocular voice, “Uh-oh, Charlie, here comes the little woman on the warpath!”

“Trust me, Brad, Cynthia is as gentle as a kitten,” Chuck said, giving her a big smile. “What’s up, honey?” 

Why couldn’t she have come up with something like that? This was getting ridiculous. She had to get focused and stop worrying about there only being a month left before Chuck was gone. Giving herself a mental shake, Sarah smiled at the other men. “I just need to borrow Charles for a minute.” 

Brad laughed and slapped Chuck on the shoulder. “Is that all the time you need?” The men laughed like hyenas and Chuck rolled his eyes at them. 

“A gentleman never tells,” he quipped, stepping away from them and putting his hand on Sarah’s back. Together they stepped away from most of the action, into the side yard. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly. 

Sarah nodded. “Yeah, just wanted to know if you had found out anything.” 

“Not really--if any of these people are Fulcrum, they’re hiding it well. Really, really well.” His thumb rubbed a little against her back and Sarah felt the knot in her shoulders loosening. “Are you okay? Whenever I look over at you, you look unhappy.” 

Looking up at him, she gave him a lopsided smile. “Suburbanites scare me.” 

Chuck laughed and leaned down. “More than terrorists or Casey in a swimsuit?” 

Shuddering, she gave him a sideways glance. “Thanks for that mental image.”

“I couldn’t help myself,” Chuck said, laughing again. “C’mon. Let’s mingle some, but together this time.” 

“Only for a little while longer, though--we should get into the house and report in,” Sarah said. She left unsaid the fact that even with Chuck helping her, she didn’t think she could handle much more of their neighbors.

“Deal,” Chuck said, turning her with a slight bit of pressure on her back, almost like they were dancing. It was nice, to feel his hand there, guiding her along. It was a bit assertive for Chuck, but she liked it. 

Just before they reached Merry and her husband, Sarah remembered her lie. Out of the corner of her mouth, she whispered, “You have a spastic colon in case anyone asks.” 

“What?!?” Chuck yelped softly, but Merry had spotted them and beamed brightly at them. “Aren’t you two just adorable? Chris, aren’t they just adorable?” she asked her husband. 

Not missing a beat, Chuck looked at Sarah. “Well, Cynthia’s pretty adorable, but I prefer ‘ruggedly handsome’ for myself.” 

And as Chuck made everyone laugh and put them at ease, Sarah started feeling better. 

XXX

The houses in Meadow Branch were not exactly distinctive: all the same tan stucco on the outside, each house built according to one of four different designs. If it wasn’t for the mailbox bearing the name Cartwright, Sarah was sure she would have gone to the wrong house whenever she returned from shopping or lunches out with her neighbors. 

In the week and a half that Charles and Cynthia Cartwright had lived in the neighborhood, they had been welcomed with open arms. The impromptu barbeque on the day they moved in had just been the first of many events: potlucks, lunch dates, trips to the gym. It all made Sarah feel like she had traveled back to what life was like in the 1970s. And she had to admit, it was starting to get to her a little. Having to spend so much time with the ladies, having to act like her only priorities were her husband and her house . . . Sarah might want more from her life than her job, but she certainly didn’t want the other extreme. 

But at least she was learning a lot about what went on in Meadow Branch. So far Chuck hadn’t gotten any flashes, so they were still flying blind about which of their neighbors were Fulcrum and which weren’t. But slowly, Sarah gathered information about various people in the housing development. Thanks to a resident list provided by the Meadow Branch Neighborhood Group and through conversations with Chuck, they had created a list of possible Fulcrum agents. She had sent the list off with Chuck just this morning; Casey would run down the names and let them know if he got any hits. 

Meanwhile, Sarah was also working on figuring out which house was the location of the Intersect while maintaining her cover. That meant borrowing many cups of sugar or dropping in for a glass of wine every day of the week at a different house. Like Cynthia, her cover identity, most of the women in Meadow Brook didn’t work, so there was always plenty of options for who to visit. But it also left her with a lot of time by herself, time that she tried to fill up as best she could. No matter how much she found to do, though, there still seemed to be hours, every day, when her thoughts kept turning to Chuck. 

Even though she had made her decision, it didn’t make this situation any easier. This whole husband-and-wife, home in the suburbs life: she didn’t want this. Not exactly. But every day when Chuck opened the door and stepped inside, his voice calling out her name in that warm, happy tone . . . it made her feel like she was living for that moment. The moment when he was home, even if “home” was part of an espionage assignment. 

That was what she wanted--that feeling of having a home and having someone who would make someplace, anyplace, a home for her. 

A soft rap on the door pulled her out of her thoughts. Walking over, she peered through the door’s small sidelights and smiled a little at the sight of Casey in a cable company uniform, a very fake-looking mustache glued above his upper lip. 

Opening the door, Sarah put on a snooty tone while trying to keep her lips from twisting into a smirk. “Yes?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. . . . Cartwright,” Casey said, referring to a clipboard in his hand. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m from the cable company and we’ve received reports about inferior picture quality in this neighborhood, so we’re checking out the lines. May I come in to inspect your cable?” 

She spotted Merry and the rest of her coven--a term that Chuck had coined and Sarah had immediately adopted--across the street. Pitching her voice to carry, she said, “Yes, please! My husband was so upset this weekend when he was trying to watch the game and he couldn’t even tell which teams were playing.”

Casey stepped in. “After the Super Bowl, before baseball . . . what game is there to watch?” he muttered.

“I don’t know, but the women out there would expect something like that,” Sarah said, closing the door behind him. “What’s going on?” 

“Got some idea of who the Fulcrum agents are. And where Fulcrum’s Intersect might be. Bartowski got sent out on a legit install, so I brought the info out to you,” Casey said, tugging the papers off his clipboard and holding them out to her. 

With a silent sigh, Sarah took the pages and started looking them over. So this mission was drawing to a close. In a day or so, they could possibly have Fulcrum crippled and be facing the end of Operation Bartowski. She thought she’d have more time. 

“What makes you think this house has the Intersect inside?” Sarah asked, trying to focus on her job. 

“There’s enough high-capacity fiber line goin’ in and out to run Google,” Casey said. “Sounds like just the thing for pulling in a lot of data. Like the Intersect.” 

Sarah checked the address of the potential Intersect location. “Cliff and Sylvia Arculin live here,” she said, looking up at Casey. “I’d certainly buy them as Fulcrum agents.” 

“Most of the names on that list you gave me didn’t pan out, except Brad White,” Casey said, gesturing towards the papers she was holding. “Ex-military intelligence with a background in Special Forces.” 

“Brad?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. 

He grunted. “Look at Bartowski. He’s faked out plenty of people, making ‘em think he’s an agent.”

Rather than bring up that Chuck had probably drawn subconsciously upon his Carmichael knowledge, Sarah just nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to Chuck and we’ll work out a way to get into the house. Make sure we’re right, and then the next night, go in and destroy the Intersect.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” He paused and looked at her. “Havin’ any second thoughts?” 

She shot him a confused look, raising her eyebrows. “Second thoughts about what?” 

“About seeing Bartowski go bye-bye.” 

Hell. 

The thing was, she didn’t have second thoughts. Not like Casey meant. Did she wish things could be different? Oh, yeah. But at the expense of Charles Carmichael? Having to lie to Chuck about who he really was? No. 

So she meant it when she shook her head. “No. I’m not going to take Chuck and go off-grid, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Okay, then,” Casey said. “I’ve still got four more houses to visit to protect the cover. See you later, Walker.” 

With a distracted nod, Sarah showed Casey out, then leaned back against the closed door. So this was it.

Within a few weeks, Fulcrum would be gone and so would Chuck. She’d never see him again. Not his goofy smiles or his clumsiness, his warm brown eyes or curly mop of hair. If she saw him again, he’d be Agent Carmichael, all buttoned-up and dark-eyed. 

It made her feel sad and a little nostalgic. For everything that had happened this year, good and bad. She almost wished there was a way to celebrate what had happened--what she had learned. Because as painful as the last eleven months had been, she couldn’t lose the pain without losing the good things, too. 

Pushing off from the door, Sarah wandered to the kitchen. Perhaps . . . perhaps she could do something special tonight. Hold off on telling Chuck about Casey’s visit and instead make tonight about them. Her mind skirted away from all the voices screaming about how dangerous that idea was and thought instead about what she could make for dinner with her limited cooking skills. 

Time to act like a housewife and cook her husband dinner. 

XXX

“Sarah?” 

“In here!” she called out as she stirred the chicken and mushrooms in a white wine sauce. 

Chuck walked into the kitchen, sliding off the slim-fitting suit jacket he wore for his Charles cover and loosened his Nerd Herder tie. “Something smells good. And by good, I mean amazingly awesome.” 

She threw him a quick smile over her shoulder. “Decided to do something fancy tonight.”

“You look fancy, too,” he said, his eyes quickly taking in her outfit: a shirtdress in a pale petal pink with plaid flats and a blue half-apron. “I feel underdressed.” 

“You’re fine,” Sarah said, moving the chicken off the heat so she could turn and face him as she sliced the French bread. “Today was quiet, so I had to do something to keep the boredom at bay.” 

“Did you hear from Casey about those names?” Chuck asked, snatching a small piece of bread. “And can I help with anything?” 

“Open the wine? It’s in the fridge,” she said, noticing how his eyes widened and choosing to ignore it. She wanted to enjoy herself tonight. Enjoy a chance to spend a little time with Chuck and not think about work. But in the same breath . . . 

“Yeah, I did hear from Casey,” she said, gathering plates to begin serving dinner as Chuck opened the wine and filled two glasses. “We can talk about that during dinner. Basically, we need to find a way to get invited over to Sylvia and Cliff’s house. That’s where the Intersect might be.” 

“Oh,” Chuck said. He lifted a glass and took a sip, almost as if he was girding himself. “And once we know where the Intersect is . . .”

“We can destroy it.” She paused and looked at him. “That’s a good thing. I mean, defeating Fulcrum--”

“No, no, exactly,” Chuck interrupted. “Fulcrum needs to be over, done, finished.” He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling up the curls a little. “I guess . . . I guess it just hit me that if Fulcrum’s no longer around, it means--it means that Operation Bartowski isn’t needed anymore.” 

Sarah set down the spoon she had been using to really look at him. How must he feel right now? He had spent the last year in a situation where he was often over his head, forced to lie to his family and friends . . . and yet, he had a purpose. Something that made him feel good about himself. And now he was left to wonder what would happen next. 

Taking a few steps towards him, she rested her hand on his forearm. “I’ve been feeling the same way. Thinking about what’s going to happen next.” 

“You have?” he asked softly, looking at her with wide eyes. 

“Yeah,” she said. “This is the longest assignment I’ve ever had--the longest I’ve stayed in one place since I became a spy.” She gave him a small smile. “I’m used to it now, which is really surprising.” 

Chuck swept his gaze around the kitchen, taking in the fancy food, the wine, and the small tealight candles she had placed on the dining room table. “Does that have something to do with tonight?” 

“Can’t get anything past you, huh?” she said, smiling wider in spite of the flutter of nerves. “It is. I . . . I thought it’d be nice to celebrate this past year. Since pretty soon it’s going to be over. Just a chance for us to--to talk. As friends,” she said quickly, not wanting him to have the wrong idea. 

And even though friendship was only part of the dynamic between them, that was something she was definitely going to miss. The knowledge that Chuck was her friend. Someone who cheered her up when she was down, made the good times better, and was always ready to listen. She would miss that a lot. 

It took a moment for Chuck to respond, which made Sarah feel even more nervous. Then he smiled: a slow, soft smile, one that was a little sad and bittersweet but also full of grace. “I’d really like that, Sarah. It’s a great idea.” 

She smiled in relief. “Okay. Then . . . then let’s eat before the food gets cold.” She handed him a plate, heaped with chicken and mushrooms and sauce. He took his plate with a smile and carried it over to the table along with his glass of wine. Sarah followed him with her own plate and glass, setting them down before going back for the bread and butter. In the meanwhile, Chuck had lit the candles, lighting up the dining area with a soft glow. 

As she sat down, noticing just how handsome Chuck looked in the candlelight, Sarah pushed aside just how much she wanted something like this for real. A quiet dinner with someone she cared about. “How was work?” she asked, if only to break the soft silence between them. 

“Good, except for the install I had to go perform. But that’s only half the story . . .”

After Chuck finished telling his story, she reminded him of Jeff and Lester stealing Big Mike’s fish, which lead to talking about the strange missions they had been part of over this year. As they talked and laughed, their plates soon were cleared of food and they had knocked back a good portion of the bottle of wine. 

Resting her chin in her hand, Sarah grinned at Chuck. “I wish I could have been there to see your face when you beat Missile Command. Even over the phone, I knew you must have been grinning from ear to ear.” 

“Oh, I was. I looked particularly goofy that day,” Chuck agreed, smiling back at her as his eyes danced. “I’d never beaten a video console before. Not one of the old-fashioned cabinets--I never had enough quarters to make it happen. And by the time I was twelve, I had a video game system at home that I could play for free. Plus, there weren’t any bullies in my house.” 

“Except for Ellie?” Sarah asked with a laugh. 

He let out a deep belly laugh, throwing his head back. “Oh, that’s awful. And so accurate. How did you know that? Are you using secret spy tricks to know what it was like when I was growing up? Because if so, I have explanations for everything.” 

Somehow, she managed to hold back her giggle. “No, Chuck. No secret spy tricks. I just can guess what Ellie was like when she was younger.” 

“She was the best big sister ever. She still is,” Chuck said with a content smile, before his face fell a little. “When this year is up, what should I tell Ellie? About us, I mean? Our cover relationship, I mean.” 

Sarah shrugged a shoulder. “We can come up with something. Perhaps a sick relative or a job opportunity.” 

His question brought Sarah back to earth. Out of their happy conversations and back to cold, hard reality. Reminding her that there weren’t many more times like this in their future. She drank the last of her wine and sighed softly. “I should do the dishes.” 

“Nuh-huh,” Chuck said, rising from his seat and taking her plate. “You cooked, I’ll clean.” He carried the plates over to the sink and got to work on the dishes, humming softly as he worked. 

For a moment, she leaned back in her chair and watched him. Savoring the sight of him, as he was right now. Then she pulled herself to her feet, bringing over the glasses and wine. “Do you want to finish this off?” she asked quietly, standing beside him as he stood in front of the sink. 

He looked at her for a moment, then smiled and nodded. “Why not?” 

“Why not, indeed,” she said, pouring the last of the wine into their glasses. She sipped a little and then looked down into her glass. 

The clinking of the dishes being scraped and rinsed was the only sound and Sarah got lost in her thoughts. So much was about to change and she wasn’t sure if she was ready for it. Which was ironic, since a spy’s life was really all about change: moving from one mission to the next, one location to another. Or maybe those were just on the surface and deep down, things weren’t that different. She didn’t know. 

“Is anything wrong?” 

Chuck’s voice was soft, just barely audible over the sound of the dishes. She heard him easily, but it took her a moment to clear her head and answer him. “Why do you ask?” 

“You just seem like . . . like you’re thinking about a lot.” He glanced at her. “Not that you’re not thoughtful or anything, or that thinking is bad. I just wondered if you needed someone to talk to.” 

She swirled the wine in her glass. “Do I seem like I need to talk?” 

“Okay, I see what you’re doing and it’s not going to work,” he said, shooting her a quicksilver grin before he grew serious again. “No answering questions with a question. You can tell me to bug off, you know.” 

“I know,” she said, turning to lean her back against the counter’s edge. “I just . . . it’s hard to believe that this year is nearly over.” 

He nodded. “It goes by so fast. At first, I was like, ‘A year? I have to have this thing in my head for a year?’ But now, it seems like no time at all.” 

“Yeah,” she said, slowly sipping the last of her wine. 

The dishes were finished and he reached for a dishcloth. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him dry his hands and then tidily hang the cloth over one of the drawer pulls to dry. 

“Do you wanna know something?” he asked, mirroring her position as he picked up his glass. 

Sarah turned her head to look at him. “Sure.” 

His eyes were so warm and caring that she felt like she was falling into them. Falling into him. “This has been the best year of my life.”

What? He couldn’t have just said that. Not when this last year saw him worry about losing his freedom, be denied romance with a girl who could love him the way he deserved, face unimaginable risk and danger . . . he couldn’t mean that. 

Her disbelief must have shown on her face, because he gave her the tiniest of smiles. “And now you’re probably wondering if I should be committed.” 

“A--a little,” she stuttered, trying to sound like she was making a joke out of it, but knowing she hadn’t succeeded. “Because you didn’t ask for the Intersect and you had to help us against your will . . . I mean, we all but threatened your family and friends if you didn’t cooperate.” 

Not one of her proudest moments by far. 

“Yeah . . . yeah, I’m still a bit angry about that one, Sarah,” he said, ducking his head for a moment. “Because they should be off-limits.” 

“They should be, yeah,” Sarah said. “But in this line of work, that’s a luxury we can’t afford sometimes. You have to realize that, right?” 

His slow nod spoke more of hesitation than any desire to agree with her. “That’s why I can’t do this.” 

“Be a spy?” she asked, holding on to her glass tightly. 

“Yeah . . . even as an analyst, I’d--I’d have to accept things like that,” Chuck said, his shoulders hunching a little. “Torture and threats and . . . and everything. It might make me naïve, but I think we should be better than the terrorists. That we shouldn’t sink to their level.” 

As much as she wanted to agree with him, she couldn’t. She had seen too much, done too much. Yes, in a perfect world, they wouldn’t have to do the same things that terrorists did. But then, in that perfect world there wouldn’t be terrorists, would there? So it was really all moot. In the world they lived in, good people had to do bad things sometimes. And if Chuck couldn’t accept that . . . 

Sarah took a deep breath as it hit her. That meant he would never accept that part of her. The torture she’d done, the threats she would have to make, in order to save people from harm, in order to protect the United States. It wasn’t something she liked, but she accepted that it was necessary. But Chuck couldn’t and it would always be a barrier between them. 

A barrier that would keep them farther apart than any physical distance. 

How had she never seen this? It should have been so obvious. Or maybe . . . maybe this was about her. About how she had changed in this year. Just as Chuck had learned that he wasn’t cut out to be a spy, it would seem that she had learned how to think. How to do something other than react. Because the old Sarah would have never struggled with her emotions like this. She would have at least kissed Chuck and hoped to avoid the consequences. Or have taken advantage of this assignment to tell him they could have one night together. Just to get Chuck Bartowski out of her system. 

But now she could think things through and realize why it was such a bad idea. It was ironic that she was finally figuring out just what Carmichael had meant when he said the simplest plan wasn’t the best. 

After all, her life hadn’t been simple for a long time now. 

The gentle nudge of Chuck’s shoulder against hers made her realize she had gone into her head again, and she gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling back. “Although I’ll admit, I’m a little curious about what you’re thinking about so hard.” 

There was no way she could tell him exactly what had gone through her mind. But . . . but she could give him something. Something true and honest.

“I guess I’m glad that even though this year has been hard on you . . . you found something good in it.” 

Chuck nodded. “I have. I know what I’m going to do now.” 

“You do?” she asked, straightening up and setting down her wine glass.

“Yep,” he said, a big smile on his face. “I’m going to start my own business. Do computer security, prevent cyber-attacks, things like that.” 

Sarah couldn’t help smiling at him, even as she felt a bittersweet twinge from her knowledge that he wouldn’t get to realize those plans he was making. “That’s such a great idea.” 

“Morgan still thinks I should create video games, and don’t get me wrong, that’d be really cool. But if I do this, I could actually help people in my own way. In a way I’m good at.” Chuck paused, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound dumb, does it? Or like I think I’m better than people like you and Casey, or people in the military or things like that?” 

“Not at all,” she said. “I think it’s a good attitude to have.” 

Later on, she would blame it on the wine. But really, the half-bottle of wine wasn’t enough to make her wrap her arms around Chuck and hug him. 

It was a way to say goodbye now. In this moment. When she let go of the idea of being with Chuck. Because as attractive as it was, as good as it could be . . . they weren’t the right fit. But that didn’t change how she felt about Chuck, didn’t change how she did wish things could be different for him. That he could be the success he dreamed of becoming and have the life he wanted. 

The same things she wanted for herself. 

His arms were warm and solid around her as he hugged her back. There was a little hesitation, as if he wasn’t sure he should do this even though she had been the one to initiate the hug. And it was surprisingly chaste given the wine they had drunk and the romantic setting. 

But this wasn’t about romance. It was about friendship. About saying goodbye. And about getting ready to move on.

XXX

Leaning down, Sarah adjusted her knife holster around her ankle, then pulled her pant leg over them. She picked up her gun and checked the safety before tucking it into the back of her pants. 

Thanks to her work finagling a dinner invite to the Arculins’ home, they had been able to determine that the Intersect was definitely somewhere in the house. Chuck had been convinced when she told him about the high-capacity data fiber; Sarah knew it was the right house when the interior of the house didn’t match the exterior. The house should have the same floorplan as the one she was staying in with Chuck--but it had walls where there shouldn’t be any. And when Chuck flashed on the mysterious Cliff and revealed his background in military IT, that just sealed the deal.

Dinner had fortunately gone off without a hitch, other than the awkwardness of having dinner with a couple who didn’t to have any dinner company. Chuck and Sarah had done their best to plant a few bugs throughout the house. And now that it was two nights since that dinner and they knew that Cliff and Sylvia had gone out of town, it was the perfect time to break into the house, find the Intersect, and destroy it. 

And then Chuck and Carmichael would be safe. 

The sound of Chuck’s heavy tread made Sarah turn around. At some point, he had discarded whatever Cole Barker had taught him and gone back to his normal pace. “Ready to go?” she asked. “Casey should be out in the van waiting for us.” 

Chuck nodded. “Yeah, all set. I made a new playlist, since this is probably my last mission,” he said, holding up his music player. 

“Just don’t get distracted like you did that time--” 

“We agreed to never mention that again,” Chuck interrupted her, his ears going red. 

Given that particular story ended with Casey cursing up a storm, Sarah glaring at Chuck and all three of them covered in sewage, she wasn’t eager to relive it, either. So giving him a small grin, she nodded. “Okay.” 

Turning on her heel, Sarah led Chuck out of the house and into the cable van that was parked two houses down from the Arculins’. She pulled open the door and climbed inside, waiting for Chuck to clamber inside before closing the door. 

“‘Bout time,” Casey grunted, turning around in his chair. 

“Aww, c’mon, Casey. This might be my last mission, let’s think of all the good times,” Chuck said, grinning a little as he sat down beside the NSA agent. 

“What, like the sewage?” Casey snorted. 

Before this could go any farther, Sarah leaned forward. “How do we look?” 

“Bugs you planted are givin’ us good picture and sound. But there’s nothin’ there,” Casey said, gesturing to the monitors which showed a dark, quiet house. “Now’s the time to go in.” 

“Then let’s go,” Sarah said, reaching for an earwig. “Chuck, you know what to do.” 

“Stay in the van,” he said. “Let you know if I see anything on the monitors.” 

Casey grunted. “And keep the music down.” 

“I think you like my mixes and don’t want to admit it,” Chuck said lightly. “Good luck.” 

Somehow, she managed to hold back her laughter at the expression on Casey’s face. She grinned at Chuck and then followed Casey out of the van, heading towards the Arculins’ house.

“Feels good,” Casey said under his breath as they approached the house.

She glanced at him, quirking an eyebrow.

“Wrappin’ things up. Getting the job done,” he said. “Bein’ on the verge of an out-and-out win.” 

“You’re right--that is good,” she agreed, crouching by the back door to pick the lock. Casey took up position beside her, giving her cover as she worked on the lock and then disarmed the security system. 

It wasn’t that strange for Casey to be ready to move on. He was probably dreaming of his cave in Afghanistan, Sarah thought to herself with a small smile. And Chuck was busy making plans, although he didn’t know the truth about those plans. But for herself . . . the end of this assignment meant uncertainty. It was something she was going to have to figure out. 

But that would have to wait until after tonight. 

The click of the door opening and the soft beeps of the alarm system being turned off seemed very loud. Sarah stepped into the house and as soon as Casey was inside, closed the door behind them. She pulled out a flashlight and turned it on, sweeping it around the interior. “There was a door in the kitchen that isn’t present on the floor plans,” Sarah said softly. “It looks like it provides access to the hidden area on this floor. We should start there.”

With a nod, Casey showed his agreement, then gestured for her to take point. Sarah drew her gun and began stepping quietly through the house.

“Nothing so far except you guys,” Chuck said quietly over the comms. 

“Kinda weird, them just up and leaving like this,” Casey said. 

“Romantic weekend getaway, according to the neighborhood gossip.” 

Sarah nearly stopped dead in her tracks. Suddenly her instincts were screaming at her. Because due to the bugs, she knew that Sylvia and Cliff hadn’t talked about going away for the weekend until last night. “How do you know that, Chuck?”

“Brad told me,” Chuck said, his voice sounding confused. “Yesterday morning.”

Oh, this was bad. She looked at Casey. “Ambush?”

“Sure seems like it.” He paused, then shrugged his shoulders. “Get the job done?” 

“What does that mean?!?” Chuck asked, now sounding worried and scared. 

Taking a breath, Sarah nodded. “Get the job done. Chuck, wait ten minutes and then start driving back to LA in the van. Get into Castle and contact Graham and Beckman.”

“No, Sarah, Casey--don’t do that. Let me help.” 

“Not a chance, Bartowski,” Casey said. “Listen to Walker. Get the hell outta here.” 

A buzz of static came through the comms and Sarah groaned. “He turned off comms. He’s probably coming in.” 

Casey cocked his gun. “Then let’s move our asses and get this done before he shows up and gets shot.” 

If this was a normal situation, she would have argued with Casey. Said that they should pull back and abort. But they were probably already trapped. And now with Chuck coming in, they had to stay with him and ensure his safety. So Sarah nodded and picked up her pace, heading straight for the door in the kitchen. 

When they reached it, Sarah silently gestured for Casey to go first. He grimaced a little but nodded. There was method to the madness, though--Casey was a much better sharpshooter than she was, even after nearly a year of picking up tips from him.

As they slowly moved down the stairs, Sarah pushed aside her worries about Chuck and focused on what needed to be done. They were walking into a situation blind, with no idea how many opponents they were facing or where they were going. 

She gripped her gun and smiled a little. God, this was a good feeling. Scary as hell, but it made her feel alive. Made her feel useful and powerful. Like this was what she was supposed to be doing. 

Even as recently as a few days ago, she had wondered if she should keep being a spy. But right now, she couldn’t imagine giving this up. 

XXX

Leaning her head back against the van, Sarah gazed up at the night sky and felt the light drizzle hit her face. It went a long way to clearing away the blood and dirt on her skin. 

The exhaustion she felt, now that the adrenaline was fully worn off, was like heavy weights on her shoulders. But even heavier was the relief she felt. 

They had done it. Fulcrum’s Intersect was destroyed, the tactical team was busy dealing with the last of the Fulcrum agents, and now . . . now there was just the clean-up before Operation Bartowski would be over.

Or at least, it should be over. There was still the wait to see if Graham and Beckman would agree with them. 

But for now, Sarah wasn’t going to worry about that. She was just going to think about what came next. 

It seemed her time in the suburbs had been full of surprises. That was the last thing she had expected, but between realizing how committed she was to being a spy and discovering the true breadth of her feelings for Chuck . . . she had discovered a lot about herself over these last few days. 

No wonder she felt exhausted. 

Sarah straightened up and looked around. Casey and Chuck had both gotten injured during their attack on Fulcrum’s Intersect: Casey had a few bullet grazes and a stab wound, while Chuck had sprained his ankle and suffered a head wound. In deference to both of them probably having to take off their pants, Sarah had let the paramedics take them into the Cartwright house while she stayed out here. But the tactical team was packing up to leave and the rain was getting heavier. 

As she approached the house, she spotted Chuck sitting on the small set of steps that led to the front door. His ankle was wrapped in an Ace bandage and there was gauze around his head, bright white against his dark curls. 

“How are you feeling?” she asked before sitting down next to him. The stoop wasn’t really big enough for both of them, she realized once she felt her whole side press against his. 

Chuck looked at her for a long moment, then shrugged. “Okay. Tired.” 

“Me, too,” she said, looking at his face in the harsh glare of the light fixture by the front door. He seemed a bit down. Like his earlier excitement about the future had drained away. 

Instead of pressuring him, Sarah turned and looked ahead. The sky to the east was just starting to brighten from the approaching sunrise, while the rain seemed to have given its last gasp with the downpour that had sent Sarah to the house. 

She stretched her legs out, feeling a few aches in her joints, and wondered why she was sitting out here in the damp chill when she could be inside, enjoying a hot shower. But she knew the answer to that. 

“Sarah?”

“Yeah, Chuck?” she asked, looking at him. 

He seemed nervous; his knee was bouncing a little and his lips were pursed. But then he took a deep breath. “This year . . . it’s been okay for you, right?” 

His question was so simple and wistful. But it packed a big punch. Because Sarah had to look away as soon as his words sunk in. Because how could she answer him? Was there any way to explain how this year had totally changed her? Made her start down a path she hadn’t realized she was meant to walk? That meeting Chuck Bartowski made her become a better spy--but also let her start becoming a whole person? How could she put that into words, especially when she knew so much that she could never tell him? 

After a few moments, Chuck ducked his head. “You--you don’t have to say anything--I was just wondering . . .” 

That made her find her voice. “Hey,” she said, gently bumping her shoulder against his. “You want to know if this year has been okay for me?”

She could see his head nod, almost infinitesimally. And the truth was, she wanted to answer him. To give him this moment. Something he might not remember, not the details of what she said or where they were. But the feeling . . . the sense of accomplishment and self-belief and confidence. She wanted him to remember that once this was all over. 

So Sarah smiled a little and said, “It’s been the best year of my life.” 

End, Chapter 13


	14. Chapter 14

When Sarah was recruited into the CIA, she had a good idea what would be involved. Danger, excitement, risk: she was prepared for that. And being the daughter of a con man had already exposed her to those things. 

What she hadn’t anticipated was all the bureaucracy. 

The CIA was part of the federal government--it seemed to run on red tape and coffee. And the worst part was knowing that all the reports that she had filed over the years were so classified that few people would ever even know they existed, let alone see them. It almost made it all feel like a waste.

Or perhaps she was just sick of working a desk right now.

Sarah took a sip from her bottle of water and leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms above her head. She had taken two days off after the Meadow Branch mission--time she needed to recover from what she had realized during her time in the suburbs. 

It had all seemed so clear when she was there. But now, after a few days . . . it wasn’t. She found herself wondering if she was taking the easy way out. If she ruled out anything happening between herself and Chuck because she didn’t want to take the risk. If she wasn’t capable of really opening herself up to another person like that--like how she thought she wanted to do. 

Of course, her knowledge that Chuck Bartowski was an implanted personality, one that would be removed soon, could be the biggest factor of all. Because with that knowledge, how could she commit to anything with Chuck? That was like taking the natural risk of a relationship--to be hurt, to be vulnerable--and increasing it exponentially. And while Sarah was new to thinking first instead of acting, she would be a real idiot if that hadn’t been what held her back, more than anything else. 

So maybe she was being too hard on herself. This whole situation with Chuck was messy and complicated--it didn’t necessarily reveal some problem with herself. As a spy, it was in her nature to be circumspect, to hold back. This year had taught her how to open up, but just because Chuck was the one to teach her that lesson didn’t mean anything had to happen between them. Kind of like how she didn’t have to fall for her partner. 

She wrinkled her nose at the thought of becoming involved with Casey. Thanks to his injuries, he had spent most of the last week recovering, leaving the bulk of the paperwork to her in the three days she had been working in Castle. Although yesterday he had come in for a little while, grumbling about sitting still for too long and being driven mad by nothing to do. It was a sign of how bored he was that he willingly did paperwork for two hours before he was ready to go back home. 

Chuck, meanwhile, had been working extra shifts at the Buy More since he couldn’t help with the paperwork. Ellie had given him a boot to wear on his sprained ankle and he was healing up fine, according to both Chuck and Ellie. Sarah had given him rides to work most days, and each time she had seen him, he was full of ideas about his future. 

It hurt, listening to him be so excited. It almost made her grateful that he was so busy with work that they couldn’t spend much time together. It helped keep that bittersweet ache from growing even stronger and more painful. And that sense of gratitude made her feel guilty. Made her wonder if she should tell him what was to come. That in a few days, maybe a week, he would no longer be Chuck Bartowski.

But she didn’t know that. 

Graham and Beckman hadn’t been very pleased that she and Casey had set up their own mission to go after Fulcrum. But since they hadn’t been directly ordered to stand down, and given that they basically wiped out Fulcrum, there was only so much anger that could be directed at Sarah and Casey. Sarah was pretty sure she had never been so happy for office politics in her life. 

Given the surprise takedown of Fulcrum, though, the powers-that-be weren’t ready to discuss what would happen next for Operation Bartowski. They had scheduled a briefing tonight for the whole team, a briefing that Sarah was definitely worried about. Because there still hadn’t been any sign that the plan had worked out. That with Fulcrum gone, the need for the Intersect to stay in Chuck wouldn’t exist anymore.

Sarah took a deep breath. There were still several hours until that briefing. She couldn’t afford to spend them freaking out over what might happen to Chuck. And she definitely didn’t want to keep dealing with paperwork, even though it felt like she had barely scratched the surface of what needed to be done. 

It was nearly time for lunch. She would get something to eat, check up on Chuck, and then work a shift in the Orange Orange. It might be her last chance, and strangely enough, she had found she kind of enjoyed it. Because everyone who came in left a little happier than they had arrived, thanks to frozen yogurt. 

And God, she really had changed. Could the Sarah of twelve months ago have thought something like that? Let alone not be scornful or disdainful of such a thought? Shaking her head and smiling a little, Sarah began wrapping up so she could get lunch.

XXX

Shortly before five, Casey made his way into Castle. Sarah watched him, noticing how he was moving a bit easier than he had the day before. “Doing okay, Casey?”

He grunted. “Just grazes. I’ll be back to normal in a day or two.” 

Somehow she doubted it was just grazes, but Casey wasn’t one to talk about his injuries. Instead of belaboring the point, she changed the subject. “What do you think Beckman and Graham will be telling us tonight?”

“That this job is over,” Casey said, sitting down slowly. “Fulcrum’s done for, isn’t it?”

Sarah nodded. “That’s what all the signs point to.”

As she and Casey had expected, destroying Fulcrum’s Intersect had taken the heart out of the organization. Even as they were contacting Graham and Beckman to inform them of their attack, the CIA and NSA had already seen signs of Fulcrum scrambling. Trying to recover from losing the Intersect, the device into which they had sunk the bulk of their funding and their top agents. Over the last few days, the chatter within the intelligence community had one thing in agreement: Fulcrum wouldn’t be bouncing back from the loss of their big top-secret project.

“Good,” Casey said, turning towards the computer and typing with two fingers as he brought up his email. “‘Course, remains to be seen if they’re gonna let Carmichael off the hook.” 

“Yeah,” she said, swallowing a little. Because if Graham and Beckman didn’t do that, it meant Chuck and Carmichael were doomed to a life they didn’t want. A life that he could escape with Sarah’s help. 

By running. 

She had skills and resources. She could take Chuck and run. Go off-grid and show that he wasn’t without friends who would hide him. They could disappear just long enough to show that the CIA and NSA wouldn’t fall to pieces without the Intersect. That they could go on without keeping one of their best agents sidelined. 

But if she did that, her life would be over. It would be a matter of when, not if, they got caught. And while Chuck probably wouldn’t be subject to disciplinary action, Sarah knew that her punishment would be severe and unending. Being charged with treason usually worked out like that. And there was no guarantee it would work if she ran with Chuck. In fact, the odds of a catastrophic backfire were off the charts. They could think Chuck aided and abetted her, so they would charge him, too. They could keep the Chuck personality in Carmichael and make the whole escapade be pointless. 

Looking down, Sarah felt the shame wash over her. She wanted to be a spy to protect people, to save them from danger. And now, when someone she considered a friend could be in danger . . . she wasn’t willing to take the risk to herself and save him. Sarah Walker, who reacted first and thought later, had talked herself out of doing something based on reason. 

Was this what it was supposed to be like? Looking at the bottom line, hiding behind logic? Was this how Carmichael worked?

No. No, it wasn’t. She had only worked with him once, but she could see that he wasn’t some robot. He did have feelings and he did use them. Just like she did. Being a spy was about using emotion _and_ logic. At least, being a good spy was about using both. 

Running off with Chuck was an option. But it wasn’t the only one. And it shouldn’t be her first choice. Just because she wasn’t ready to destroy her life to save him for a short period of time didn’t make her cold and hard, into some kind of ice queen. It made her realistic--and honest with herself. It made her human. 

Sarah ran her hands through her hair. Right now, she was jumping at shadows. Until she heard what Graham and Beckman had to say, all of this was pointless. Because until her back was against the wall, she didn’t know what she would do. 

The sound of footsteps made her look up to see Chuck coming down the stairs, a hesitant smile on his face. “Hey, guys.” 

He looked nervous, especially when Casey just grunted in response, so Sarah made herself give him her best attempt at an encouraging smile. “Hi, Chuck.” 

“I’m not late?” Chuck asked, looking at his watch. “You said to be here at five, but I was with a customer so . . .” 

“You’re fine,” Sarah said, standing up and moving over towards the video screens. She knew she sounded a bit more curt than usual, but Chuck wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

Casey moved his chair across the floor to take up position on the other side of Sarah as she fiddled with the remote to start the video conference. Within a moment, Graham and Beckman were on screen. 

“Agents. Mr. Bartowski.” Graham’s voice seemed deeper than normal--a sign that he was annoyed, Sarah knew.

“Director Graham, General Beckman,” she said, clasping her hands together behind her back. 

“Your actions against Fulcrum have proven to be most useful,” Beckman said, glancing at Graham for a moment before continuing. “Good work. Agents, you will be receiving commendations in your files. Mr. Bartowski, you will receive a bonus.” 

In spite of her worries about the immediate future, Sarah still appreciated hearing some praise, as muted as it was. Casey seemed to feel the same way. “Thank you, ma’am. Director.” 

“I get a bonus?” Chuck asked, sounding delighted. “Wait, I’m getting paid?” 

“You will receive a pay packet when Operation Bartowski concludes,” Graham said. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah could see the wide smile on Chuck’s face. He must be thinking that the money would help him create his new business. Once again, she felt her heart ache from all the dreams Chuck would never get to realize. 

“And that’s soon, right?” Chuck asked, being more proactive in these briefings than he had ever been before. “I mean, with Fulcrum wiped out . . .”

Once again, Beckman and Graham exchanged looks. Sarah wished she could look at Casey and see what he was thinking about this. He couldn’t have missed the silent exchanges between their superiors. 

“We have asked much of you, Mr. Bartowski. We have one more request before we can wrap up Operation Bartowski.” 

Graham’s words made a pit open up in Sarah’s stomach. What were they doing? What was going to happen to Chuck? 

Chuck’s gulp was audible. “W-what is it?” 

“There is an upgrade of the Intersect we would like to test on you. One that would ensure that the agent who receives the Intersect would be even better prepared for whatever lies ahead for the CIA and NSA.” Beckman paused. “It would require an extra month of service from you, Mr. Bartowski, but there would, of course, be a commensurate salary for that extra month.” 

“Since this is the first I’m hearing about getting paid, I--I don’t really know if that matters,” Chuck said slowly. Sarah felt like cheering. It was good to see him standing up for himself. 

“Mr. Bartowski, I’m afraid that this isn’t a request,” Graham said. “The day after tomorrow, you will fly to Washington, along with Agent Walker and Major Casey, and receive the Intersect upgrade.” 

His voice brooked no argument. Sarah had heard stories about agents who had tried to go toe-to-toe with Graham only to end up spending a year in the Falklands. But she hadn’t missed how he had left out what would happen after the month of testing the upgrade was over. And two days wasn’t enough time for her to decide what to do and to put a plan into motion. 

“Sir, that’s not enough time for Chuck to make arrangements for an absence of such length,” Sarah said, taking a small step forward. “Disappearing like that would prompt questions from his employer and his family. Might I suggest waiting a week--” 

“Agent Walker, the decision has been made. Mr. Bartowski, the sooner this upgrade happens and the testing is complete, the sooner you can get back to . . . whatever it is you do,” Beckman said. Her voice wasn’t quite as crisp as normal--perhaps she wasn’t in agreement with Graham on this?

Casey cleared his throat. “With all due respect, Bartowski has done everything that’s been asked of him so far. Don’t see how this upgrade is necessary, ma’am.”

“I can’t just leave my life here. Well, yeah, the Buy More, I was going to quit soon, but--my sister, my best friend, I can’t leave at the drop of a hat. They won’t understand,” Chuck said, his voice beseeching. “Please, I just need a little more time.” 

“Enough!” 

Graham’s voice was loud enough to make the video screen shake, Sarah thought.

“Mr. Bartowski, time is not something we have available. Therefore, I suggest you begin making your preparations for your travel to Washington,” Graham said, his voice lower in tone but no less angry. 

Sarah could see Chuck’s jaw tense, then with a jerk of his head, he nodded before turning and stalking towards the stairs out of Castle. Throwing a quick glance at the screen, Sarah went after him and caught his arm. “Chuck--” 

When he faced her, his face was flushed with anger, but his eyes glimmered as if he was on the verge of tears. “It’s not fair, Sarah!”

“I know,” she said, holding his forearm tightly. “It’s not fair. Casey and I won’t go down without a fight. We’ll talk to Graham and Beckman and see if we can change their minds.” 

Chuck heaved a heavy sigh. “Do you really think you can?” 

“We have to try,” she said, looking up at him. She tried to smile at him. “Why don’t you go home and rest? Just--just try and forget about this. I’ll call you as soon as I know more.” 

“I don’t know if I can forget about this,” Chuck said. He took a deep breath. “But--but I’ll try.” 

“Attaboy,” Sarah said, trying to cheer him up. She gave his shoulder a gentle punch. “I bet Morgan could distract you.” 

He huffed out a small laugh and nodded. “Yeah, he could.” Chuck gave her a long look and a small smile. “Thanks, Sarah.” 

“Anytime, Chuck.” She glanced back at the screen, where Casey was talking softly to Graham and Beckman. “I need to get back. I’ll call you later.” 

Sarah waited until Chuck had turned and started climbing the stairs before resuming her place in front of the video screen, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Casey. He gave her a quick nod as she moved back into position, like he was showing her that he supported her. That gave her an extra dose of confidence as she began speaking. 

“I apologize for the delay, Director Graham, General Beckman. But I must protest the quickness of this move--”

“Agent Walker, your protests aren’t necessary,” Graham said, cutting her off. “Mr. Bartowski is not receiving an upgrade to the Intersect. 

“What?” Sarah said, blinking. 

“If he’s not gettin’ an upgrade, why did you tell him that?” Casey asked, sounding equally surprised. 

Beckman leaned back in her chair. “To prevent complications from occurring when the implanted personality and the Intersect are removed from Agent Carmichael.” 

Now she was even more confused. Wouldn’t lying to Chuck and getting him all worked up create more risk to Carmichael?

“Based on the reports provided by Dr. Woodcomb, our scientists think that it will be easier on Agent Carmichael if the implanted personality feels a strong emotional reaction to its continued existence. The Bartowski personality has had a year to implant itself inside Carmichael’s brain; his brain might resist giving up that personality unless there are emotions working against the continued presence of it,” Graham said, referring to a sheaf of papers in his hand.

“What, Bartowski’s gotta be mad in order to get outta Carmichael’s head?” Casey asked. “Sounds like mumbo-jumbo to me.” 

“Doesn’t all of this?” Beckman asked dryly.

“But the original plan is still in place, correct?” Sarah asked. “Both the personality and the Intersect are being removed from Carmichael?”

There was a long pause. One that felt endless to Sarah. Several lives were hanging in the balance, waiting for the answer to that question. Not just Chuck’s and Carmichael’s. But hers, Ellie’s, and dozens more, probably. 

“Although there has been some discussion about keeping the Intersect in Agent Carmichael and just removing the Bartowski personality, Dr. Woodcomb argued against it. And the scientists seconded her objections,” Graham said slowly. “So, yes. While Mr. Bartowski will be coming to Washington for what he thinks is an upgrade, in fact Agent Carmichael will be leaving without the Intersect.” 

For a split second, Sarah’s eyes fluttered shut as a wave of relief crashed over her. She had no idea how much she had been dreading a different answer. Ever since she had realized that the CIA might not uphold their part of the deal with Carmichael, she had been scared of what would happen if her worst fears came true. And now that she knew it looked like they were in the clear--that neither Chuck nor Carmichael would become a slave against his will--she wasn’t prepared for how good that felt.

“Good to hear,” Casey said, his voice a bit gruff.

“Yes,” Sarah said softly, trying to regain a professional appearance. 

“Tomorrow, you will work on closing down Castle and preparing for the end of your duties with Operation Bartowski. Major Casey, when you arrive in Washington, we will make arrangements for your promotion ceremony.” 

Beckman’s voice sounded almost gleeful. Casey’s eyes went wide. “Ma’am?”

“Congratulations, _Colonel_ Casey,” she said, her lips quirking up. 

“Congratulations, Colonel,” Graham said. “Agent Walker, I would like to speak with you privately about an opportunity to offer you.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows, feeling surprised. She didn’t think a promotion was in the works for her, but she was still rather curious just what Graham had to say. 

“That’s all we had to discuss, so I will let you speak with Director Graham, Agent Walker,” Beckman said, stepping aside from her desk. “Colonel Casey, I will see you at Fort Meade the day after tomorrow.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Casey said, snapping off a quick salute. He gave Sarah a quick look and then walked away from the conference area, going in the direction of the armoury. 

Now alone with Graham, Sarah faced the video screen. She wasn’t sure what to expect, given that she had been selecting her own assignments for the six months prior to Operation Bartowski. 

“Your work has been quite remarkable, Agent Walker,” Graham said. “I know this wasn’t an easy assignment, but I knew you were capable of meeting this challenge when Carmichael requested you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sarah said quietly. She felt a mild sense of unease, wondering just what Graham was about to ask her. 

“Once Carmichael has recovered and gotten caught up on what he’s missed, we want to build a team around him. Some training wheels, to use one metaphor. It’s well past the time he move away from his lone wolf ways and move up the ladder,” Graham said. “And given your performance with Carmichael, and his obvious rapport with you, we immediately thought that you would be an excellent choice for Carmichael’s team.” 

What? 

Just what was the CIA doing here? Did they think that Carmichael wasn’t going to be able to cut it anymore so he needed babysitters? Why on earth would they be putting together a team for him now, before they even knew if everything was going to work the day after tomorrow? And she couldn’t imagine the man she had met a year and a half ago, the one who was brilliant and resourceful and innovative, meekly accepting a team being thrust upon him. 

“I--I’m confused, sir,” Sarah said, unable to couch her shock any better. “Is this really the time to be planning so far ahead? After all, we have no idea how long it will take Agent Carmichael to recover from his experiences.”

“We’ve been without Carmichael for a year. We can’t afford to not be ready if he’s prepared to go back out into the field faster than we expect,” Graham said. “Carmichael is all about beating the curve--the scientists expect he’ll need three months to be ready. But I’m anticipating he’ll be in the field in six weeks.” 

Sarah swallowed. “I . . .” She didn’t know what to say. His offer was just what he promised it would be: a huge opportunity for her. It made her feel the same way she had the first time she was told she would be working with Charles Carmichael: that same surge of excitement and determination to see him in action and hold her own with him. 

But things were different now. 

“I expect you need a day or so to think it over,” Graham said, guessing at what her silence meant but having no idea just how profound an understatement his words were. “You can tell me your decision when you arrive in D.C.” 

“Yes, sir,” Sarah said, nodding dumbly. Feeling the sudden urge to flee, to go to her apartment and curl up in a ball and just push all these feelings and thoughts away. 

Graham nodded and ended the video conference, which was Sarah’s signal to sink down on the end of the conference table. Before she could leave, she needed a minute to make sure she wasn’t so distracted she would walk into a wall or drive her car into a building.

XXX

It was a beautiful Southern California night. Although it was only early March and it was past ten o’clock, the breeze was chilly but refreshing and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, letting a few stars peek through the remnants of the day’s haze. But Sarah still had her arms wrapped around herself as she stood by the open window of her apartment, gazing outside and listening to the waves slowly roll in towards the beach. 

In less than a day, she would be gone. This wouldn’t be her home any longer, the place she had spent more of her adult life than pretty much anywhere else. She probably hadn’t even spent as many hours in her Washington apartment as she had here. 

So this place felt something like a home to her. She was the one to throw a knife through the built-in alarm clock, only she knew the water in the bathroom sink didn’t really get hot unless you had just taken a shower, and no one other than her could identify what the shiny blue stain in the bottom of the closet was. (An unfortunate nail polish accident.) 

Was that what a home was? A place that held your secrets, your memories? Sarah didn’t know. But when she had walked in tonight and realized that it was the last time she’d ever walk in here . . . it had made her already messy thoughts get even more tangled. 

Ever since yesterday’s briefing, Sarah had been trying to figure out what to do. Last night, she had come back and spent the evening making lists of reasons for and against taking the assignment with Carmichael. She had filled up pages of her notebook, trying to find some shred of clarity, to no avail. The more she thought about it, the more confused she got. She had gone to bed and for the first time in months, she had dreamed of that night in the Dominican Republic. But it wasn’t just Carmichael that she had kissed in those dreams. Chuck had slipped in there a few times, too. 

That didn’t help matters. Because now she knew just when Chuck Bartowski would be gone forever, and it made all her decisions feel much less settled.

Should she take advantage of this final chance and make Chuck’s last memories good ones? Give him one night with her, one night that she could remember the rest of her life? 

She would be lying if she didn’t admit to herself that the idea was appealing. She had kissed Chuck plenty, enough to know that his kisses had a quiet power over her. Remembering the time he had kissed her in front of Roan Montgomery still made her cheeks flush. He had just been so tender. Like he thought she was the most precious thing he had ever touched. 

Just because she didn’t think she could have a relationship with Chuck didn’t mean she was without feelings for him. Didn’t mean she was without fantasies. Wondering what it would be like to have that tenderness, that love, fully expressed. To watch his amazing eyes look into hers as he hovered over her, making their bodies one. 

If she called him and asked him to come over, he would probably guess what might happen. Or, actually, since he was Chuck, he would consider the possibility and then discard it. Not believe that it could happen. Not after the wringer she had put him through this year. 

Sarah looked down. Even if she hadn’t known that in a few days he wouldn’t be Chuck anymore, she couldn’t do this to him. Couldn’t give him hope that things might be different after the upgrade, when she knew there was no hope. 

Spending the night with Chuck would be something only she would remember. And while it was so tempting to have that one night, just to see what it would be like . . . Sarah couldn’t deal with being the only one to remember. 

Blowing out a breath, she ran her hands through her hair. Now that Operation Bartowski was nearly over, the nostalgia definitely had her in its grip. Making everything have a lovely hazy happy glow and letting her ignore the times when she had wanted to scream out her frustration with Chuck, when she had wanted to wring his neck for being so trusting and open and vulnerable. 

Not giving in the nostalgia--remembering why she had decided against letting anything happen with Chuck--was what she should be doing right now. That, and trying to figure out why she felt so hesitant about joining Carmichael’s team. 

Stepping away from the window, Sarah walked over to her desk and looked down at the pages of lists she had made. While her pros list were pretty short, the cons list was . . . extensive. The reasons ran the gamut from “don’t like working in teams” to “don’t want to be sucked back under Graham’s control.” 

But there wasn’t much about Carmichael. Nothing, in fact. While making these long, extensive lists, her mind had somehow danced around that issue. And perhaps that was why she didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t asked herself the right question. 

Did she want to work with Charles Carmichael? After spending this last year working with Chuck Bartowski, getting used to seeing Chuck and not Carmichael when she looked at him, discovering that they were two very different men, could she handle spending so much time with Carmichael? 

Sarah sank down on one of the green overstuffed chairs, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she considered this. It had taken a lot of time for her to adjust to Chuck after working with Carmichael on one solitary mission. She suspected that it would take a lot longer to get used to Carmichael--to look at him and not see Chuck, to become familiar with any of Carmichael’s quirks, to react to Carmichael and not to her memories of Chuck.

And wasn’t that the whole problem? Seeing Carmichael every day would just serve as a reminder of Chuck. Of what they might have been if they were in different circumstances, a different situation. If Chuck had been real and not some made-up, too-good-to-be-true man. Even with his flaws and weaknesses, Chuck was just better than anyone else. 

Could she ever give Carmichael a fair shake, enough to build the rapport necessary between agents who worked together? With all the baggage--a lot of which Carmichael wouldn’t even know about--could it work? Or was it fair to ask Carmichael to not remind her of a man he really wasn’t?

_“Well . . . I could be your very own baggage handler.”_

Sighing, Sarah turned to look out the window, drawing her knee in against her chest and wrapping her arms around her leg. Chuck had regretted saying that on their “first date.” But the truth was, that was what he had become: someone who handled her baggage. But even more importantly, he had driven her to learn how to handle her issues on her own. If he hadn’t been so confusing and bewildering and infuriating, she would have never gotten as far as she had towards learning herself. 

The time she had worked with Carmichael, while it had been challenging in its own way, it hadn’t changed her. Not like she had changed over this year with Chuck. And she just didn’t know what to expect from working with Carmichael. 

She just didn’t know. She wasn’t sure about anything right now. But the thought of being on a team with Carmichael, of being in such close quarters with him . . .

It was possible that it could work. It could be like it had been the last time they had worked together, only probably--no, make that definitely--without sleeping together. She wasn’t about to get involved with another partner blindly, just because she knew the sex was amazing. 

But she just had so many doubts. And she wasn’t sure she could make a decision until after the Intersect was removed: until she knew if she had to make the decision at all. 

Sarah swallowed, feeling her stomach tighten. What if it all went wrong? If the Intersect removal didn’t work and Charles Carmichael, aka Chuck Bartowski, became a vegetable? What if Graham and Beckman did a triple-cross and had no intention of removing the Intersect after all? 

And now it was clearly time to take a break. To get ready for bed and try to get some sleep before rising early, packing and heading to the airport. Because her mind was coming up with possibilities she didn’t want to consider and problems that she couldn’t solve. 

On autopilot, Sarah prepared for bed. She slid between the sheets, gazing up at the ceiling for the last time, and willed herself to fall asleep. But it was several hours before she drifted off. 

XXX

After a year away, it was a bit strange to be back in Washington. But then, Sarah had never really taken the time to get to know the city. It was always just a temporary stopping point, someplace she went in-between missions and usually didn’t stay long. 

Still, it was strange to come back to the city that was the closest thing she had to a hometown as an adult and realize that Burbank had been more of a home to her than D.C. ever was.

“Is there any way we could take a little detour to see the monuments?” Chuck asked, leaning over the front seat as much as he could. “I’ve never been to Washington.” 

Casey grunted. “Not exactly a little detour, Bartowski. Especially in D.C. traffic.” 

“I thought we were in Virginia?” Chuck asked. 

“One and the same around here,” Casey said. 

Sarah turned around in the front passenger seat to look back at Chuck. “There’s bound to be some time after our meeting this afternoon. If you want to see the monuments, we can make that happen.” 

Chuck smiled brightly at her. “Thank you.” 

Somehow she managed to smile back at him, quickly turning back around in her seat. His interest in seeing the monuments reminded her of her first conversation with Carmichael, when he talked about learning your home city. And that just reinforced how soon Chuck would be gone.

“You’re pretty chipper for someone who’s gonna spend an extra month with the Intersect in your head,” Casey said, glancing back at Chuck.

He leaned back against the seat. “I guess I’m trying to make the best of a bad situation. Staying mad won’t make the time go any faster.” 

That was true, but what did Chuck’s newfound Zen state mean for removing the Intersect? Sarah looked at Casey, who looked back at her and shrugged his shoulders. 

Great, something else to worry about. Sarah tried to stay calm and not let what she was thinking show on her face as Casey drove along the Dulles Toll Road, heading towards northern Virginia and the CIA’s headquarters in Langley. 

She still didn’t know what her answer for Graham would be. Hopefully, she would be able to buy some time before an answer was needed. If nothing else, she could say that after being in one assignment for a long period, she would like to take a few short-term missions and test herself. Plus, she had some recertifications to fulfill and other administrative tasks to complete. At the very least, she should have time to see how Carmichael acted upon his return before saying yes or no to Graham’s offer. 

As Casey pulled the rental car through the gates, Sarah looked over her shoulder at Chuck. He was gripping his hands in his lap, looking out through the window with searching eyes. He might not be angry about the upgrade anymore, but he was certainly nervous about being at CIA headquarters. 

“Okay, Chuck?” she asked quietly.

His swallow was faintly audible. “Y-yeah.” 

“We’re going to meet with Director Graham and find out more about the upgrade,” Sarah said, keeping her voice soft and soothing. “Just one more month, Chuck.” 

Casey grunted as he pulled the car into a parking space and shut off the engine. “Little too close to ‘one last mission’ for me.” 

“Aww, did you have to say that?” Chuck groaned. “Now I feel like this, all of this, is jinxed.” 

Sarah blinked. “What are you talking about?” 

“Action movie trope. You never say anything is the last something-or-other, because then something will happen to make you a liar,” Chuck said. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Sarah said, getting out of the car. Not that she actually thought that; there was a tiny bit of truth in the superstition. She’d certainly seen it first-hand on missions. But still, contradicting Chuck like this was a good way to keep him from freaking out. 

It worked: Chuck kept up a quiet but steady discourse as they entered the CIA headquarters, walking past the Memorial Wall and through the metal detectors. She managed to keep him talking by offering mild disagreements as they walked, and it wasn’t until they were in Graham’s outer office that she put a hand on his arm and brought him back to reality. 

“Ready for this?” she asked, reaching up to adjust his tie a little. He was dressed casually, although nicely for him, in jeans and a button-down shirt with a sweater on top. Like always, though, his tie was just a little bit crooked. 

He nodded, then shook his head. “Sarah, what if--what if it’s not just a month?” 

“It’s not my normal instinct, but . . . but we need to go in and listen to what the director has to say,” Sarah said. “Okay?” 

The sarcastic voice in her head pointed out the hypocrisy in advocating patience to Chuck when she had never been able to do the same, but Sarah pushed it aside and gave Chuck a small smile. 

Chuck still looked nervous, but he took a breath and nodded. “Okay.” 

There was no reason to delay any longer. Sarah turned and walked to the door that led into the inner office, pushing the double doors open. The office hadn’t changed since the last time she was here: same large room with various work areas defined by the furniture. Graham stood up and came from around his desk as they walked into the room, Sarah and Casey flanking Chuck. 

“Mr. Bartowski,” Graham said, holding his hand out to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Um, thanks,” Chuck said, shaking Graham’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you in person. To know that you’ve got legs.” 

Graham blinked and Chuck barreled on. “Because I’ve only ever seen you standing behind General Beckman, so you could have had these top-secret robot replacement limbs, like something out of a comic. Or you could be relatively short because the general is a midget, or--” 

A small nudge from Sarah was enough to get Chuck to stop talking. He clamped his lips shut and Graham just shook his head, looking slightly amused. 

“It’s good to have you all here,” Graham said. “Mr. Bartowski, you’ll be meeting with our scientists this afternoon, getting a good check-up before we begin the process to upgrade the Intersect. We greatly appreciate your assistance.” 

“You’re welcome, I guess,” Chuck said, rubbing his hands against his jeans. 

“Colonel Casey will be accompanying you during the testing,” Graham said. “Colonel, my assistant has directions for where to take Mr. Bartowski.” 

“What about Sarah?” Chuck asked, looking at her before returning his eyes to Graham. 

Even as Graham mentioned needing to talk to Sarah, she knew what was going on. He wanted to ask her if she had an answer to his offer. Damn it, she thought she would have more time. 

“I’ll meet up with you both later,” Sarah said, giving Chuck and Casey a quick smile that she didn’t really feel.

“C’mon, Bartowski, let’s go,” Casey said, turning towards the doors. Chuck hesitated for a moment, then returned Sarah’s smile and followed Casey out. 

Sarah took a deep breath as she faced Graham. He resumed his seat behind his desk. “Please, have a seat, Agent Walker.” 

Sinking down into one of the chairs in front of his desk, Sarah folded her hands in her lap. “What can I do for you, Director?” she asked, trying to ease her way into this discussion. 

“First off, I hope this year has not been too much of a struggle for you,” he said, looking at her with observant eyes. “You seem tired.” 

“We’ve accomplished a lot in twelve months,” Sarah said. “And with no real down time, I probably look more tired than I am.” 

Graham nodded slowly. “You are, of course, more than overdue for some leave. You can take that while Agent Carmichael is recovering.” 

“And before I join his team? Is that what you’re hoping will happen, Director?”

The ire in her voice took Sarah by surprise. She swallowed, pressing her lips together as she waited for his response. 

“Carmichael will probably need help acclimating once he . . . returns,” Graham said, choosing his words carefully. “Given your experiences with him, you seem like a natural fit for his team. But if you’re not interested, that’s that.” 

“It’s not that I’m not interested,” Sarah said, the words coming out of her like a river. It was unusual for her and it made her feel edgy. “But I think Carmichael would be better served by making a fresh start. Not being weighed down by someone who has . . . expectations.” 

“And you feel those expectations would pose a problem working with Agent Carmichael?” Graham leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. 

There were so many words struggling to break free. Things that she didn’t want to say to her boss. Not like this. So Sarah simply nodded. 

“Very well, Agent Walker,” Graham said, his voice neutral. “I appreciate your candor. And I will consider that viewpoint when selecting members of the team.” 

She nodded again, trying to feel relieved. Trying to feel good about having made a decision. But instead, she just felt . . . empty. Numb. Because if she didn’t join the Carmichael team, what was next for her? 

“We have scheduled the removal of the Bartowski personality and the Intersect for tomorrow morning at ten,” Graham said, looking at Sarah. “Mr. Bartowski will be in testing until around seven this evening--perhaps you can ensure he gets as much rest as possible tonight?” 

“Um, yes,” Sarah said. “I can do that.” 

“Good,” Graham said, pushing away from his desk. “Then perhaps you’d like to start catching up. Anne can find you a desk where you can get some work done.” 

Quickly uncrossing her legs, Sarah stood up. “Yes, sir,” she said, trying to push aside the strange numbness and act professionally. “Thank you, Director.” 

Graham nodded. “Of course, Agent Walker.” He paused before opening the doors to the outer office. “You seem . . . different. I hope this year hasn’t been too hard on you, Sarah.” 

It had been so long since he had called her by her first name. She must look truly ragged if he let down the wall that they had both put up between them. But she appreciated him making this effort. Showing that he cared while keeping it somewhat professional. So she offered up a wan smile. 

“Thank you, Director. I . . . I’ve got a lot to think over. Because this year has taught me a lot.” She paused. “I do plan to take some leave.” 

“Good,” he said, patting her shoulder lightly. “Have a good evening, Agent Walker.” 

Sarah slid her hands into the pockets of her trousers and walked away slowly. She headed towards the elevators, lost in thought. 

This was Chuck’s last night. He didn’t know it, but she did. And she wanted to make it special. Make it a good night--hopefully it wouldn’t interfere with the removal of the Intersect and the implanted personality. And either way, she just wanted him to get something that he wanted.

XXX

From her seat behind the wheel of a nondescript Ford Taurus, Sarah waited for Chuck to walk out of CIA headquarters. She had left a message at the labs where Chuck was getting tested, telling him to meet her here once he was done testing. 

When she spotted him through the doors, Sarah put on an encouraging smile. His shoulders were slumped and he was rubbing his forehead, like he had a headache. She hoped her plans for tonight would cheer him up. 

She pressed the button to lower the passenger side window and leaned down a bit. “Chuck!” she called out, getting his attention as soon as he was out of the building. 

His head turned and a small smile quirked his lips as he walked to the car. He opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. “Your note was pretty vague, Sarah.”

“Didn’t want to spoil the surprise,” she said, smiling at him. “Are you hungry?” 

Chuck shook his head, then winced a little. “Gonna be a little while until I can handle food.” 

Giving him a sympathetic look, Sarah pulled the car away from the curb and headed towards the exit that would let them go south on the George Washington Parkway. Since it was past seven on a Saturday night, traffic wasn’t too bad. 

There was silence in the car for several minutes, Chuck leaning back against the seat with his eyes closed. Sarah glanced at him a few times but mostly focused on driving. Then, happily, Chuck seemed to recover enough to sit up and open his eyes. “So where are we going?” 

“I told you--surprise.” 

“What, you’re not going to give me a clue or anything?” Chuck asked, smiling a little. 

Letting out a soft laugh, she shook her head. “Oh, no. I’m not gonna spoil this,” she said, looking over at him as she kept driving. 

After all, her anticipation at his reaction was the only thing keeping her from slipping into a spiral of worry. Worrying that she had made the wrong decision in not joining Carmichael’s future team, worrying about what had happened to Chuck today, worrying what would happen to him tomorrow.

Worrying about watching him go. Because it was expected that she would be there tomorrow, and she didn’t know if she could stand there and watch Chuck Bartowski be pulled out of his skull. 

“I know there’s no way I can break down those spy walls,” Chuck said with a grin. “So just enjoy the ride, huh?”

Sarah nodded. “Exactly.” 

Another silence fell, one that was slightly more tense than the last one. She told herself it was merely because of the surprise. By the time they reached Rosslyn, she found that the silence was too much. 

“You said you wanted to see the monuments . . .” Sarah said softly, glancing at him. 

“But--but it’s night,” Chuck said, a delighted smile blooming on his face even as his eyes looked confused. 

“I haven’t spent a lot of time here--not enough to really explore the city,” Sarah said, reminded again of her first conversation with Carmichael. “But I do know that everyone says the monuments are best seen at night. And they’re accessible at pretty much all hours.” 

Chuck’s smile got even bigger and brighter. He immediately began chattering away about how there had been a junior class trip to Washington, but he hadn’t been able to afford the trip and had to stay home. 

She let his voice wash over her as she kept driving, taking the Arlington Memorial Bridge over the Potomac. Chuck’s excitement at the historic bridge helped take her mind off the knowledge that the bridge was on the verge of crumbling. And once they were in Washington proper, they were at one end of the National Mall, surrounded by the memorials to presidents and monuments to American wars. 

By the time she parked the car, Chuck was practically bouncing in his seat. “Oh my God, there’s the Lincoln Memorial! Oh, we have to go there first, Sarah. C’mon, c’mon!” 

As soon as her feet hit the pavement, Chuck grabbed her hand and started pulling her towards the Lincoln Memorial, situated at one end of the Reflecting Pool. He didn’t let go as they moved towards the impressive marble edifice. 

Watching Chuck’s delight made Sarah’s mood plummet. In less than a day, he’d be gone and there was so much he’d never know. How he had changed her life, changed her. Made her better. Not just as a spy, but as a human being. 

She must not have hidden her mood well enough, because after about ten minutes of Chuck walking around the memorial taking it in, his eyes locked on her face and his smile faded. “Sarah? What’s wrong?” 

It was too late to hide. To prevaricate or find a way out of this. Chuck could be like a dog with a bone when it came to someone hiding something from him, especially when he thought someone he cared about was unhappy. And maybe . . . maybe she was just tired of pretending. Of acting like she didn’t care for him. 

Taking a deep breath, she looked at him. “Tomorrow, when you get the upgrade . . . I won’t be there.” 

He frowned. “What?”

“I won’t be there,” she repeated, hearing her voice break a little. 

“Sarah, I don’t understand. I--I thought you’d be here, this next month, while they’re testing the upgrade.” Chuck stepped towards her and leaned in, as if he was trying to get a better look at her face in the evening darkness. 

The urge to tell him everything was stronger than it had ever been. But she couldn’t hurt him like that . . . and she had spent a whole year keeping secrets from him. Why change that now, she thought with more than a measure of self-loathing. What was one more lie? 

“I won’t,” she said, feeling her throat tighten up. “I’ll be moving on.” 

Chuck’s brow was furrowed. “You’re going off on another assignment already?”

God, this hurt. Seeing his confusion, hearing the concern in his voice . . . and she was lying to him. She thought she had learned how to open up, how to be honest with someone, but maybe she really hadn’t. Maybe she had faked it this whole year, if she could hold back like this and keep the truth from perhaps the only person on Earth that she wanted to be honest with. 

“No, um, I’ll be taking some leave. Doing paperwork and administrative stuff for a while,” she said, her words clumsy and halting. “You know, briefings and--and weapons recertification and--and a physical . . .”

What was she even saying? Why was she still talking?

“So you’ll still be in Washington? You could still come tomorrow,” Chuck said, looking somewhat relieved. “Because I really want you to be there, Sarah.” 

And that was it in a nutshell. He wanted her there. And before now, she had found a way to do what Chuck needed. To be the rock he could lean on. But this time . . . she couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be the support he needed, because she didn’t want to watch Chuck disappear. It wasn’t even a choice or a decision, actually. She couldn’t watch as Chuck was erased and this challenging, hard, wonderful year came to an end. 

“I can’t,” she said, her voice breaking. 

“Sarah, what’s wrong?” he asked, reaching out and cupping her elbows gently. “Tell me, please--let me help, I wanna help. I don’t want to end things like this.” 

If she didn’t get away from him right now, she just might break down and cry. Sarah Walker was on the verge of tears and it was all too much, too scary, too vulnerable. 

She stepped back so his hands fell away from her arms. Reaching into her trouser pocket, she yanked out the car keys and pushed them into his hand. “Call Casey and he’ll tell you how to get to the hotel. I--I have to go. I’m sorry.” 

“Whatever I did, Sarah, I’m sorry, but please, can we just talk about it?” Chuck followed her as she headed towards the stairs down to the Mall, his voice almost pleading with her. 

“I can’t,” she repeated, stopping for a moment to look at him. He was standing in a shaft of bright yellow light from a nearby streetlamp, tall and thin in his jeans and jacket and Chucks, his hair rumpled and his face filled with worry. Worry for her, the last person who deserved it. 

“I’m sorry, Chuck,” she said, swallowing hard and trying to hold herself together for one more moment. 

“Sarah,” he said, his voice so heartbreakingly sad that she couldn’t listen to anything else he had to say. Turning on her heel, she dashed down the wide marble steps. Once she hit the Mall itself, she took off at a run. There was a Metro stop a few blocks away. When she got there, she could make her way someplace safe. 

Wherever that might be. 

End, Chapter 14


	15. Chapter 15

By the time she reached the Smithsonian Metro stop, Sarah had stopped running and slowed to a fast walk. Mostly because she didn’t want to attract too much attention to herself--but also because it was too hard to run when she was sucking in air and trying to hold back tears. 

She gripped the railing on the escalator as she rode down into the station, trying to gain some kind of calm. Once she had a farecard and had stepped through the turnstiles, the breeze flowing through the station told her that a train was arriving. Not caring what direction it was going in, Sarah hurried down another escalator and stepped onto the train just as the tinny “Stand back--doors closing” announcement was made. 

The train car was relatively full, but she found a seat against a window and sat down, wrapping her arms around her middle. She stared out the scratched plastic window at the darkness, seeing her faint reflection. 

Messy blonde hair. Pale skin. Eyes that looked watery and tired. An air of sadness and despair. 

Sarah closed her eyes as the subway began moving. She couldn’t believe she had just left Chuck like that. Leaving him in a city he didn’t know, all alone, the night before he was getting what he thought was an Intersect upgrade . . . It was the kind of fuck-up that could get an agent into serious trouble. And more than that, it was a pretty crappy thing to do to Chuck. To someone she considered a friend.

But she just couldn’t stay. Couldn’t look at him, couldn’t talk to him. Not without losing all her control and spilling her guts about everything she knew. She had held out for this long, keeping the truth from him for a whole year. She could last a bit longer. But she couldn’t be around him and stay quiet.

Why was it so hard now? She didn’t know. Before today, she’d never felt such an urge to tell Chuck the truth. About who he really was, about his memories being false, about their shared history. It was strangely perverse that now, with less than twenty-four hours to go, she wanted to tell him everything. 

Maybe it was because she didn’t know how she could watch the “upgrade” happen. She knew Chuck must be confused by her reaction. He wasn’t the only one. She hadn’t expected to be hit so hard by the upcoming removal of the Intersect. It was a visceral reaction; she just couldn’t bear the thought of watching that happen. Yes, she hadn’t been looking forward to accompanying Chuck tomorrow, but why did she suddenly feel like she’d rather die than watch him become Charles Carmichael? 

Rubbing a hand against her forehead, Sarah wished she had her purse. She had started carrying a notepad with her, in case she needed to make a list. But she’d left her bag in the trunk of the Taurus and had only carried her phone and some cash when she had walked with Chuck towards the Lincoln Memorial. 

She would kill for some paper now. Her thoughts were so tangled, so messy. She was too emotional and didn’t know how to get herself straight. Right now, it was tempting to just keep riding this train until well after the procedure tomorrow morning. But not only was that impractical, since Metro closed down at two a.m., it wouldn’t really help. It’d just be running away from her problems. Being a coward. And while she had a lot of flaws, she didn’t want to add that particular weakness to the list. 

So Sarah opened her eyes and straightened up in her seat, running her hands through her hair. If she didn’t have any paper, she’d just have to do her best to fix these problems without it. 

Why was she so upset about tomorrow? It seemed like a dumb question to ask, because the answer was obvious: she was upset about Chuck becoming Carmichael again. After spending a year getting to know him, protecting him and defending him, losing Chuck was just so unfair. He was a great guy and had been through a lot, even before he got the Intersect. And there was still so much about him that she didn’t know--that she wished she had taken the time to find out. Like what the full story was with his ex-girlfriend, and what he had been doing before that car accident, and a hundred other little things. And she knew it was all made up, but she still wanted to know just who Chuck Bartowski was. But now she’d never get that chance. 

Was it just about Chuck disappearing, though? Sarah pondered that. After all, there were plenty of things about Chuck that she did know . . . things that worked against them having a real relationship. As nice as he was, he wanted different things from his life than she wanted from hers, and she didn’t know how they could have reconciled that if they had tried something. And any relationship between them would have been doomed, because it all came back to the Chuck personality eventually being removed so that Carmichael could have his life back. 

Carmichael. 

Taking a deep breath, Sarah sank down in her seat a little. It’d hurt to see Chuck vanish forever. But it would also be a little bit scary, because that meant Carmichael would be back. She had slept with him and they had never talked about it. She had been a mess back then--not that she wasn’t a mess now, but at least her current confusion wasn’t born out of denial and pushing away her feelings. In the months after that mission in the Dominican Republic, she had never dealt with how she felt about Carmichael. If she didn’t think about it, she would be okay. 

But she hadn’t been okay. Her dreams about that night should have proved that. And her emotional reaction to Graham’s job offer, to work with Carmichael, and making a knee-jerk decision to not join the team . . . God. Talk about being a coward. 

Sarah felt her face flush. What an idiot she’d been. If she watched Chuck become Carmichael tomorrow morning, she’d have to deal with Carmichael for the first time since the best sex of her life. The most intimate lovemaking she’d ever had, with a man she barely knew. If she worked with him--if she really got to know him--what might happen? 

Her mind was whirling, but not like before. Instead of her thoughts becoming tangled and confused, she felt like she was gaining some kind of clarity. But the loud, emphatic beeping of her phone stopped her thoughts and felt like a bucket of cold water over her. 

Looking around, she realized that the train had made it to the aboveground portion of the subway line and her phone was now getting service. And it appeared she had a lot of messages. 

With a deep breath, Sarah began reviewing the messages. There were three texts from Chuck, all expressing worry and asking her to just let him know that she was okay. There was a voicemail from him, too, one that she wasn’t quite ready to listen to yet. And there was a voicemail from Casey. 

She hesitated for a moment, then punched the buttons to call her voicemail and listen to Casey’s message. 

_“Walker, what the fuck are you doing? Bartowski’s freaking out. I’m gonna pick him up and take him back to the hotel. He said you gave him the keys to the car--I’ll stick ‘em under the passenger side floor mat, ‘cause I’m not drivin’ back into DC to pick up your ass after this stunt. Call when you get back to the hotel so we know you’re not dead.”_

It was a sign of how far her relationship with Casey had come, because even though his words were angry, his tone wasn’t. He actually sounded concerned. But his message reminded Sarah that she’d really screwed up tonight. 

Standing up, she moved over towards the doors of the train. At the next stop, she’d change to a train going back into the center of Washington, so she could get back to the car. Which hopefully would still be there. 

And once she got back to the hotel, she’d have to start fixing the mess she had created.

XXX

Funny how just standing and looking at a door could make your stomach knot up. It wasn’t so much the door that was making her nervous: it was the man in the hotel room on the other side of the door that was doing that. 

Casey had rightfully given her a piece of his mind when she had arrived back at the hotel. It had muted his anger when she accepted everything he said and agreed with him about how wrong she’d been. Which wasn’t why she had done so; Casey was right in saying she had screwed up. She had--and denying it or trying to justify her actions was pointless. So it was time to take the punishment. 

Finally, he looked at her and shook his head. “Jesus, Walker, I knew you wanted to get your chocolate into Bartowski’s peanut butter, but I didn’t think you’d lose it like this just because you can’t.” 

“It’s more than that, Casey,” Sarah said, looking up at him. “After the Intersect gets taken out of his head, they’re going to build a team around Carmichael. Graham wanted me to work on that team--work with Carmichael.” 

He folded his arms over his chest. “Yeah, so?”

She probably shouldn’t tell Casey what she was about to say. But they had worked together for a year and he’d been a good partner. She’d probably never get to work with him again--might not even see him again, for that matter, since they were in different agencies. So for all those reasons, she felt somewhat safe telling him a little bit of the full story. 

“Six months before Operation Bartowski, I worked a mission with Carmichael,” Sarah said, looking up at Casey from her seat on the end of his bed. “And . . . we slept together.” 

His response was succinct and very Casey. “Shit.” 

“Yeah,” Sarah said, running her hands through her hair. “And we never talked about it, because he ran out before I woke up. And I never told anyone about what happened. So . . .” 

As uncomfortable as Casey was with “lady feelings,” she didn’t want to go into any more detail. Besides, from the look on his face, he had a good idea about what she was leaving unsaid. 

“No wonder you’re a mess. What’d you tell Graham?” Casey uncrossed his arms and moved to sit down in one of the room’s wing chairs. He dwarfed the chair just enough that Sarah had to bite back a giggle. The last thing she needed now was to start laughing--she might go into hysterics. 

“I turned him down,” Sarah said, clasping her hands together.

Casey grunted. “Huh.” 

Not really knowing what that response meant, Sarah stood up. “I should go talk to Chuck. Make sure he’s calm enough for tomorrow.” 

“He said you weren’t comin’ tomorrow,” Casey said. “That still true?”

Sarah nodded. “I know they said they wanted Chuck upset, so it would be easier to take out the implanted personality, but . . . but I think me being there would backfire. And besides, I--I’m just not ready to deal with Chuck being gone like that. Not yet.” 

For a moment, she thought Casey looked annoyed. But she didn’t know why, and whatever was bothering him wasn’t enough for him to stop her leaving. And now here she was, standing outside of Chuck’s room and working up the courage to knock on the door.

This feeling inside her, of sheepish shame mixed with embarrassment, was something new. She didn’t like feeling this way. So even though she had no idea how Chuck was going to react to her showing up, Sarah lifted her fist and knocked lightly on the door.

It took less than ten seconds for the door to be yanked open, revealing a Chuck with rumpled hair and wide eyes. “Sarah!”

She opened her mouth to say something, but before she could get anything out, Chuck was hugging her tightly. Just as quickly as it happened, though, Chuck stepped back, his face red. “Sorry, sorry. I was just really worried about you and I’m glad you’re here now and you’re safe. You are safe, right?”

“Um, yeah, I am. Thank you,” Sarah said, feeling floored. Once again, he had surprised her. Because she had expected him to be at least a little mad at her. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah--yeah, of course!” Chuck stepped back to allow her into his room. He closed the door behind her, looking nervous. “Nice of the CIA to spring for individual rooms for us. Not that I would have minded sharing with Casey, but it’s good to have my own space.”

Nodding, Sarah clasped her hands behind her back. “Yeah. So . . . so I wanted to apologize to you.” 

“You don’t have to apologize, Sarah--”

“No, I do,” she interrupted, looking up at him. “Because what I did was wrong and I don’t want you to think what happened was your fault.” 

Chuck lifted his hands and ran them through his hair, then sat down on his bed. He gestured to the chairs across from him and Sarah took the unspoken invitation to sit down. 

“It was just . . . surprising,” Chuck said, his voice hesitant. “That you ran off like that.”

“I know,” she said softly. “And that’s why I wanted to apologize and explain myself.” 

His eyes were full of worry and concern, but he simply nodded and stayed quiet. So Sarah had to speak. Had to find the words. 

Sarah licked her lips. “I’m sorry, Chuck. I shouldn’t have left you alone like that, and I . . . I shouldn’t have run off, period. But I just couldn’t talk about what I was feeling. Not without--” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Have you ever been so confused that you didn’t know where to start?” 

He gave her a small smile and nodded. “Yeah.” 

The quiet kindness he was showing her--letting her talk, listening so hard to what she had to say--made her feel even more ashamed of her behavior tonight. Pushing that aside, she continued. “That was what was going on. I just didn’t know what to say, and my fight-or-flight response kicked in. But I could have told you that. I could have just . . . I don’t know. Asked you to give me a few minutes alone.”

“Hey,” he said, leaning forward, almost to the point of sliding off the bed, so he could rest a hand lightly over hers. “You were upset and weren’t thinking clearly. It’s okay, Sarah. It happens to everyone.” 

“Not to me. At least not when I’m working,” she said, looking at him. “I wasn’t prepared for that.” 

That was an understatement. Not to mention only part of the truth: it had been clear she was overwhelmed by her emotions, but she wasn’t telling Chuck why. Because that got into things she couldn’t tell him. She had to give him something, though--some reason for why she got so carried away. 

“This assignment . . . it’s the longest I’ve ever worked with anyone other than Bryce,” she said, hoping that bringing up their shared nemesis wouldn’t derail the progress she’d made so far. “And it’s been a hundred times better than working with him. And now that it’s nearly over and I have no idea what I’m going to do next . . .”

“But you’re amazing, Sarah.” 

For some reason, his simple words hit her right in the gut. It wasn’t the words, though--it was his voice when he said them. So sincere and honest. Full of complete and utter certainty that what he was saying was the God’s honest truth--that he had no doubt or disbelief in that. In her. 

She lifted her eyes to his face, where his confidence in her shone like a light in the darkness. And it was all she could not to throw herself at him. Even though he’d be gone tomorrow, even though there were hundreds of reasons why she wouldn’t actually do that. She wanted to.

Because no one made her feel as good about herself as Chuck did. And no one believed in her like Chuck did.

Chuck gave her a small smile. “You’ll go off and do awesome things and forget all about me, you know.”

Almost without thought, the words fell out of her, as she turned her hand underneath his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I really doubt that, Chuck.” 

His smile went shy and he ducked his head. “Well, that’s good to know. Because I’ll remember you, Sarah.” 

Now she needed to lower her gaze. Because she wasn’t about to cry in front of him. She took a few breaths. “You’ve been a really, really good friend to me, Chuck. And--and I appreciate that. So thank you.” 

“That goes double for me,” he said, his voice deep. 

Clearing her throat, she looked at him. “I--I suppose you must be confused by why I’m not going to be there tomorrow . . .”

He nodded. “But . . . but if you can’t be there, I understand. I wish you would be, but . . . yeah.” 

The shame rushed over her in a wave. Some friend she was. But she just didn’t know if she could handle watching him go. Seeing some man she barely knew replace the funny, smart, kind, wonderful person she had spent the last year with; a stranger replacing the good man that she knew Chuck was. 

“I’m sorry.” The words were so small and insignificant. They weren’t enough. But Chuck gave her a small, sad smile and squeezed her hand before pulling away from her. 

“It’s okay, Sarah. I--I wish there was a way I could know you were okay. In the future. Or that if you needed help, you could call me or email or something.” 

“That’s very sweet of you, Chuck,” she said, rubbing her hands against her jeans. “I wish I could do that, too, but . . . but in this line of work . . .”

“I know,” he said. 

The thing was, he didn’t know. The only reason she wasn’t breaking the rules was because after tomorrow he’d be gone and it wouldn’t have mattered what she did. 

Or did it? Looking at Chuck, with his hunched shoulders and sad face, she suddenly didn’t care. Looking around the room, she saw a notepad and pen on the nightstand by the bed. Standing up, she walked over and picked it up. She could feel Chuck’s eyes on her as she scribbled down a string of numbers before tearing off the top page and holding it out to him. 

“This is my private number,” she said. “If you call and leave me a message there, I’ll get it. In case you ever need a CIA agent.” She smiled a little. 

“Are you sure?” he asked, taking the paper and holding it tightly. “I mean, I don’t want you to get into trouble or anything.” 

Reaching out, Sarah lightly patted his shoulder. Wanting to touch him, wanting to reassure him. And wanting him to know how touched she was by his sweetness. “It’s okay, Chuck. I won’t get into trouble.” 

He gave her a small smile. “Okay.” Glancing over at the clock, Chuck sighed and stood up. “But I’ll probably be in trouble if I don’t get some sleep, huh?” 

Sarah looked at her watch and nodded. “Yeah, it’s late.”

A slightly awkward silence fell between them. Sarah knew it was time for her to go and Chuck knew that, too. And there was so much left to be said--so many words on the tip of her tongue. Words that she’d never get to say to him. 

“I guess this is goodbye,” Chuck said after shuffling his feet. He looked at her and then held out his hand. “Thank you, Sarah.” 

She looked at his hand for a long moment, then reached out and took it, shaking it slowly. “You’re welcome, Chuck,” she said, gazing up at him. Then, as if her body moved without any conscious thought, she stepped forward and wrapped her free arm around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. 

Their joined hands were caught between their bodies and she could feel the tension in him at her initiation of physical contact. But then his arm settled around her and he hugged her back. And it felt so good to be hugged by Chuck that she closed her eyes and savored the moment as long as she could. 

When he moved, Sarah almost stepped back. But something in her made her stay still as he lowered his head, bringing his lips close to her ear. “Sarah . . . please come tomorrow. If you change your mind, just . . . just come.” 

It took all her power not to stiffen in his arms. She wished he hadn’t brought up tomorrow. But . . . but he had, and she had to find some way to not screw this up any more than she had. Sarah licked her lips. “I . . . I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s all I ask,” he said softly, his voice deeper than normal. She almost shivered at the feel of the wispy strands around her hairline being stirred by his breaths. He was so close . . . 

It was too much. So even though she hated having to end this hug, to end this year, she made herself step back. Managing a small smile, she said, “You don’t ask a lot, you know.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I only want to ask for what I think I might be able to get.” 

And his response was just so very Chuck that she felt like melting. Somehow, she held back a sigh and kept her smile going. “Get some sleep, Chuck. Tomorrow will be here before you know it.” 

“Yeah . . .” he said, looking at her and taking a deep breath. “You, too, Sarah. And good luck.” 

“Thanks,” she said quietly as she stepped towards the door. She put her hand on the doorknob but stopped. She didn’t want to leave things like this.

Looking over her shoulder, she took in Chuck. His messy hair and big brown eyes, his hands rubbing nervously against his jeans even as he gazed at her. It was so easy to see who he was: a good man, one with so much potential. She was going to miss him. 

“Goodbye, Chuck,” she said softly. 

She could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Goodbye, Sarah.” 

His voice was full of sadness but also hope. She didn’t really understand what he must be feeling, not when she just felt so much bittersweet emotion. All she could seem to do was smile again before turning and stepping out of his room. Then she headed to her own room, where she could be finally be alone. Could be alone and let herself feel the emotions she had been trying to hold back for so long.

XXX

It shouldn’t have been possible for her to fall asleep, but she did. As soon as she got into her room, a wave of exhaustion swept over her and she ended up falling asleep in her clothes. Her sleep was so heavy and dreamless that it took a loud, rhythmic knocking for Sarah to wake up. 

She sat up, blinking in confusion over why someone was pounding on the door to her hotel room. “Miss Walker?” came a male voice through the door. “This is Brad from the front desk? I have a message for you?”

“Just--just a minute!” she called out, trying to free herself from the covers, straighten her clothes, and run her fingers through her hair at the same time. Somehow she made it to the door without falling over. 

When she opened it, a young man, probably no more than eighteen or nineteen, was standing there. “Miss Walker?” he asked again. 

Sarah nodded and he handed her a folded slip of paper. “Sorry for disturbing you, ma’am, but I was told that message was urgent.” 

“Thank you,” she said distractedly, wondering what the message was. She fumbled for some money to tip the eager young man and sent him on his way, closing the door before she opened the paper to read the message. 

_Walker, quit doing your Sleeping Beauty impression and check your phone. Casey_

Frowning, Sarah started hunting for her phone. She guessed he must have called her, but what was so urgent that he’d go to all this trouble? 

Once she found her phone--it had been knocked off her nightstand to fall in-between the wall and the bed--she discovered that not only was it on vibrate, she had three missed calls, a text, and a voicemail. And all of them were from Casey. 

The text was just informing her that he was taking Chuck over to Langley and that the Intersect and personality removal was slated for eleven that morning. But the voicemail, left a half hour ago, was very different. 

_“You need to get down here, Walker. Bartowski is freaking out and the scientists are ready to call it off--they think he’s gonna blow a gasket. So get your ass in gear and get to Langley.”_

What? What was going on? With a soft curse, Sarah dropped her phone and ran to the bathroom. She gave herself two minutes to brush her teeth and hair, then stripped off her t-shirt and pulled on a button-down. Shoving her feet into her shoes as she finished with the buttons, Sarah picked up her jacket, her phone and her keys. 

As she dashed out of her room, she dialed Casey’s number. When he answered, she didn’t even bother apologizing. “What’s wrong?”

“Whatever the hell you did to or with him last night, Bartowski’s all wound up today. Nervous and fidgety as a cat on a hot tin roof.” Casey sounded grumpy, which wasn’t surprising. He never really had much patience for Chuck’s insecure moments. 

“I’m on my way, but it’s gonna take some time,” Sarah said, hurrying through the halls. 

“I sent a rookie over to pick you up,” Casey said. “Probably waiting for you out front by now. What the hell happened to you, Walker?”

“It was a tough night,” Sarah said, holding back the details. “I crashed hard and my phone was on vibrate.” 

Casey grunted. “What did you and Bartowski do last night?” 

“Nothing,” Sarah said, stepping out of the hotel and looking around for any sign of a waiting car. “We talked, we said goodbye.” 

“Dunno why,” Casey said. “Not like you’re never gonna see Bartowski again.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, feeling annoyed. She kept her voice down as she replied. “Actually, I won’t, since after that little procedure today it’ll be all Carmichael.” 

“You really think that?” 

Frowning, Sarah craned her neck for any sign of the promised car and paced along the walkway that ran in front of the hotel. “What’s to think about? You met Carmichael. He’s not Chuck.” 

An inelegant snort exploded loudly in her ear. “You really think Carmichael’s in touch with who he really is? He’s a spy like all of us, and that means not showin’ your true self. Jesus, Walker, did you forget the first day of training?” 

She stopped in her tracks. “W-what?”

“All I’m sayin’ is, I don’t think there’s as much different between Bartowski and Carmichael as you think. How else would Carmichael come up with Chuck Bartowski if he didn’t know exactly who that guy is?” Casey asked. “I’ll tell ya--he’s got a nerd past and he used it for this mission. That’s why I don’t think Bartowski is just vanishin’ forever.” 

No. No, that couldn’t be it. Carmichael couldn’t really be Chuck deep down. Could he? 

The honk of a car horn distracted Sarah, making her realize just how tightly she was gripping her phone. “Um--the car’s here. I’ll be there soon.”

“Tell the rookie to put the pedal to the meddle,” Casey said, hanging up. 

Pressing the end button, Sarah slipped her phone into her pocket before getting into the car. She held her hand up towards the rookie, a thoroughly pleasant-looking young man. “Just drive. I have to think.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the rookie said, a slightly disgruntled note in his voice as he turned the steering wheel. Sarah wasn’t normally so rude, but she couldn’t deal with chit-chat at a time like this.

Casey’s words had reminded her of something Ellie had said. A few things that Ellie had said, actually. Her brother’s nerdy past before he left for boarding school--how seeing Carmichael show up at her door was like seeing Chuck again--Ellie’s belief that there weren’t that many differences between Chuck and Carmichael. 

It was one thing if Ellie wanted to think that. But if Casey also believed that . . . 

Sarah grimaced. They couldn’t be right. And frankly, she was getting a bit pissed off being told the sky was brown when she knew it was blue. 

Yes, Carmichael had been a nerd when he was younger. Ellie’s stories made that clear. So it was easy to understand why, when it came time to develop the implanted personality, Carmichael had used that. Made Chuck Bartowski into a video game playing, comic book reading nerd. 

But that was just the window dressing. Because it was the heart and sweetness and loyalty that made Chuck into the man he was. And she didn’t know how Carmichael could have hidden all that from the world, if he actually possessed those qualities. 

Wasn’t it much more likely that Carmichael embedded such traits into the Chuck personality in order to protect himself? No one would suspect the Intersect to be in someone as warm and caring as Chuck. So really, it was all about keeping himself safe, especially since Carmichael wouldn’t remember what had happened during this year. Wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment or discomfort from such vulnerable behavior. 

Carmichael was an amazing spy and a good man. But she hadn’t seen anything in him that made him seem like Chuck. She didn’t know how Casey had gotten that impression, but he was wrong. And it was annoying as hell to consider having to put up with Casey during all this. But at least this was the end. 

And that thought made Sarah feel cold all over. 

It was the end. And against her will, she was going to watch it happen. 

Damn it. Sarah blew out a breath and leaned back against the car seat. It wasn’t much longer to Langley. She had only a little bit more time to get herself together and find a way to handle watching Chuck disappear forever. 

She needed to get over herself. There had been so much she had done in her life that she hadn’t wanted to do, but she had done it. Whether because her father told her to do it or her job required it of her, Sarah had always complied. And this time, it was different. It was a friend asking her for help. 

Chuck was her friend. She owed it to him to get past her own feelings and be there today. To help him calm down and prepare for what he thought was an upgrade. She didn’t know why he was freaking out, but Sarah knew that other than Ellie, she was the best person to calm him down. So that’s what she would do: get Chuck to a place where he could do what the scientists told him. 

Even if it meant she was helping Chuck be erased from existence.

XXX

On paper, the CIA headquarters was just a few nondescript buildings in Northern Virginia. In reality, though, there were dozens of offices scattered around the vicinity of Langley. But the building that the rookie pulled the car up in front was not some small office. It bore more in common with an airplane hanger.

“Go right in, Agent Walker,” he said, not making any move to leave the car or even turn off the engine. 

“Thank you for the ride,” she said, getting out quickly and heading inside the warehouse, her heels clicking against the linoleum tiles. Looking around, she took in the massive space, which was filled with computers and desks surrounding what looked like a smaller, two-story room. Along one side, near the top of the room, was what appeared to be a viewing platform. Two rows of chairs were arranged to look inside the room, and most of the chairs were filled. She was too far away to get a good look at who would be watching, but she had a sinking suspicion that they were the people that her boss reported to. 

“Walker!” 

Whirling around, Sarah spotted Casey coming towards her. She hurried to meet him halfway. “Where’s Chuck?” she asked quietly as soon as she was in earshot. 

“This way,” Casey said, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “C’mon.” 

She followed Casey to a small anteroom constructed on the back side of the room--the room where she guessed the Intersect would be removed from Chuck. There was just a table and four chairs in the anteroom, but Chuck wasn’t using any of them. Instead, he was pacing back and forth, his long legs covering the floor with only a few steps. He was wearing what looked like hospital scrubs, his regular Converse sneakers exchanged for slippers that flapped against the floor. When Casey and Sarah stepped into the room, Chuck faced them. 

“I can’t do this,” he said, sounding panicked. “I can’t give up another month of my life, living here and having scientists poke and prod me. I can’t, Sarah,” he said, moving to take her by the shoulders. 

“Too late now, Bartowski,” Casey muttered, drawing a dirty look from Sarah. 

“Casey, let me talk to Chuck. You can find out how much notice they need before they can start the upgrade.” 

With a shrug, Casey left the room. And now she was alone with a very scared, very nervous Chuck. 

“I said I can’t do this, Sarah,” Chuck said shrilly, letting go of her shoulders and running his hands through his hair. Based on the condition of his curls, he had been doing that a lot lately.

Stepping forward, she rested her hands on his shoulders. “Breathe, Chuck. It’s okay.” 

His jaw was set in stubborn lines and she almost expected him to shake his head at her, like a small child would. But then she saw him suck in some air through his nose and blow it out through his mouth, his shoulders rising and falling under her hands. 

“That’s it,” she said softly, trying to sound encouraging. “Nice and easy.” 

He kept breathing and Sarah gently rubbed his shoulders, feeling relieved as the tension eased from him. After a few moments, the panic had left his eyes and his face wasn’t so pale. 

“Better?” she asked, gazing up at him. 

Looking slightly sheepish, he nodded. “I’m sorry . . . I just got in here and I . . . I don’t know. I guess I had some kind of panic attack.” 

“It’s okay, Chuck. This situation, it’s filled with unknowns.” Sarah slid her hands from his shoulders down his arms to take his hands. “Did they explain what was going to happen? I don’t know much about how the Intersect works.” 

Chuck swallowed a little and walked over to the table, sitting down in one of the chairs. “Um, as far as I can tell, I just go in there, sit in a chair, and images get displayed that will upgrade the Intersect.” 

Choosing to sit beside him, instead of on the other side of the table, Sarah leaned forward. “That’s it?” 

“That’s it, I guess,” Chuck said. “God, everyone must think I’m a nut case. Freaking out like I did . . .” 

“It doesn’t matter what they think,” Sarah said firmly, laying her hand on his wrist. “You’re helping them out, by agreeing to get the upgrade, by letting them do their testing. If they think less of you for being a bit worried about what’s going to happen, then it’s their problem. It’s not their brains on the line.” 

Sarah bit her lip as soon as the last words were out of her mouth. _Way to go, Walker_ , her mental voice chided her. The last thing she should be doing is bringing up the risk to Chuck right now. But to her confused amusement, Chuck let out a soft laugh. 

“No tiptoeing around it, huh?” he said, gazing at her. 

Raising an eyebrow, she shrugged. “Isn’t that part of the reason you freaked out?” she asked. 

“You know me too well, Walker,” Chuck said with a grin. “You’re sure you don’t want to hang around for the next month and keep showing off how you’ve got me all figured out?” 

“It was more of a lucky guess,” Sarah said, returning his grin with a small smile. “I don’t really have you figured out.” 

“No?” Chuck said, looking surprised. 

She shook her head. “You’ve always kept me guessing, Chuck Bartowski.” 

Clearly, her answer floored him, because he went silent, his lips pursed and his expression thoughtful. It was at that moment that Casey stuck his head into the room, taking in Chuck’s calmer appearance before he spoke. 

“Eggheads said whenever Bartowski is ready, they’re ready. So we’re just waiting on him.” 

Since Chuck was still lost in thought, Sarah nodded to Casey. “Okay. We’ll let you know.” 

Casey gave her a look, one that practically grunted “Don’t screw this up” before he withdrew. 

Turning back to Chuck, she lightly patted his hand. “Okay there?” 

“Huh?” he asked, before shaking his head and sitting up, pulling his hand away from hers. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Is it time to go?” 

His simple question felt like a punch in the gut. Because he didn’t realize what he was asking. This was it: the last few moments she’d have with Chuck Bartowski. Chuck, the wonderful, sweet, special man that she wouldn’t get to see anymore. The man who was in love with her and hadn’t said a word about it after she shot him down. 

And suddenly, she knew how she wanted to say goodbye to him. Yes, she had said the words to him, but she still wasn’t very good with words. And, deep down, past all the objections and justifications and reasons she had come up with over the last month, she knew what she wanted. 

“Only--only if you’re ready, Chuck,” she said, her voice sounding hollow to her ears. 

Chuck took a deep breath and stood up. “I think I am.” He turned towards the second door, the one that led into the Intersect room, then paused. Standing in profile, he softly said, “I’m glad you came, Sarah. So I could see you one last time.” 

There was such naked longing in his voice. As if he, too, realized that this wasn’t the time to hold back. And it made her feel such a mix of emotions that he was nearly to the door before she spurred herself into action. 

“Chuck?” she said, jumping up from her chair and crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Before--before you go in there, there’s something I . . . something I need to do.” 

A small wrinkle appeared on his forehead as he considered her words. “What is it, Sarah?” he asked, looking down at her in confusion. 

Looking into his eyes, Sarah felt so much. More than she ever thought she was capable of feeling, more than it should be possible for one human to feel. And probably all those emotions were showing on her face, which was why Chuck looked so confused. But she was going to clear up that confusion for him. 

In her heels, she didn’t have to stretch much to reach his face. Reaching out, she gently cupped his face in her hands, taking in the feel of his smooth, soft skin. His eyes widened, the amber brown depths swirling as she leaned closer to him. 

“Sarah?” he whispered, sounding completely shocked. 

If their lives had been different, maybe they could have figured this out. But their lives weren’t different from this and all they could have was this last moment. She wanted to make it a good one. But since she couldn’t tell Chuck that without explaining everything, she kissed him instead. 

His lips were so soft and sweet. Sarah closed her eyes and focused on remembering everything about this moment. On exploring his lips and feeling what he did to her. He barely responded at first, and then suddenly he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in against his body and kissing her back. Their lips parted and the kiss became deeper, more intimate. She could feel his hands touching her hair and her cheek before settling on her shoulders and she felt like she was melting. 

Yet, as good as the kiss was, at its core, they both seemed to know that this kiss wasn’t the start of something. It was an ending. A goodbye. She could feel that in her bones, and when Chuck slowly let the kiss end, his forehead resting against hers, she could see it in his eyes. 

And she would remember that look for the rest of her life, she thought, as he pulled back from her. As he gave her a small, slightly sad smile before turning to walk through the door into the Intersect room.

XXX

According to protocol, Sarah should probably leave the anteroom and go to the viewing platform. But sitting among the big bosses, having to school her expressions and watch Chuck disappear . . . she couldn’t do that. So she dragged a chair into the corner of the anteroom and sat down, clasping her hands in her lap. 

Somehow, she managed to not think. To make her mind go blissfully numb by remembering every detail of that kiss, burning them into her memory. 

She could have never had a relationship with Chuck. There were the CIA rules to start, the need for them to be in a long-distance relationship, and the differences that would quite likely pull them apart. Not to mention the tiny fact that she had always known that Chuck would only be in her life for a year.

But she still wished they could have had a chance. And the fact that they never had one was what hurt the most. 

Taking a few deep breaths and pushing back the tears that were threatening, Sarah looked around and realized, to her surprise, that Casey was standing by the outer doorway. When her eyes connected with his, he nodded to her. 

“You’re not watching?” she asked, shifting on her chair. 

“Nah,” Casey said, picking up a chair and dragging it over by hers.

Sarah watched Casey sit down next to her, feeling a bit surprised. Perhaps the hardened NSA agent was affected by Chuck leaving, too. Even if he thought Carmichael was a lot more like Chuck. 

For several moments, they sat in silence. It was almost like they were trying to listen to what was going on in the other room. When she couldn’t take it any longer, she turned towards Casey. “How long . . .?” she asked quietly, hoping he would understand what she was asking. 

He glanced at her and shrugged. “Think they said it would take about an hour. Lot to get out of his head.” 

Nodding, Sarah looked down at her hands. She hoped that Chuck--Carmichael--he wasn’t hurting too much. That the process was relatively painless. No more painless than the feeling of having yourself be torn away and your real self coming back after a year away. 

She swallowed and blurted out, “I’m actually going to miss that stupid frozen yogurt job a little. Because--because no matter what kind of mood someone was in when they walked into the Orange Orange, they left feeling a little bit better.” 

Beside her, Casey leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “I moved more Beastmasters in a year than anyone in that store had sold in five years.” 

“What’s a Beastmaster?” Sarah asked, grasping at anything to talk about. 

“Best grill on the market. Dual temperature zones, aluminum griddle attachment for cookin’ bacon or toasting buns, an accessory pack that included skewers for hippie kebabs . . .” Casey’s voice trailed off and he sighed. “Damn fine product. And made in America.” 

“They’ll miss you at the Buy More,” Sarah said, giving Casey a small grin. “I bet their loss prevention is going to take a huge hit without you.” 

Casey smirked a little. “And the Orange Orange won’t have a bunch of teenage boys leering at the hot chick slinging the yogurt.” 

Letting out a soft snicker, Sarah grinned wider. “Thanks, I think.” 

“You figure out what you’re going to do now? Since you turned down Graham’s offer?” Casey asked, looking at her. 

She shook her head, not really surprised by his change of subject. “No . . . I guess I’ll just take what comes my way. What about you? Afghanistan, Pakistan?” 

“Going back to my old team,” Casey said. “It’ll be good.” 

After a year of working with Casey, she had gotten to know him. Not as well as she knew Chuck or Ellie, but . . . they had spent a lot of hours together. So she was pretty sure she wasn’t imagining the hint of doubt in Casey’s voice. The sound of someone trying to appear more excited about something than they actually were.

The sound of footsteps and voices made both of them turn towards the interior door. Sarah gripped her hands tightly. Had everything gone according to plan? Was Carmichael okay? Suddenly she wished that Ellie was here, supervising everything and making sure there was someone who put Carmichael first. If only she wasn’t presenting at a medical conference this week . . . 

The door opened, revealing several white-coated scientists chattering away. They stepped through the door, pointing to their clipboards and talking excitedly. Then a tall figure filled the doorway, leaning on a stocky scientist. 

Sarah found herself on her feet, almost without knowing why she stood up. She just wanted to be standing up when she faced Carmichael. When she saw him for the first time since she had fallen asleep beside him, naked and satisfied.

When he stepped into the anteroom, it was like there was no one else in the room. She couldn’t look at anyone but him. 

Although he was clearly a bit unsteady on his feet, she could see that his posture was different. His shoulders seemed broader because he wasn’t hunched over. He looked taller and leaner somehow--she couldn’t explain it. All she could think was that Carmichael had an innate confidence about him, even in a situation like this. 

But what took her breath away was his eyes. They were the same color, that same amber whisky color she had admired since she first saw them. But the feeling in them . . . it wasn’t the same. Carmichael’s eyes were guarded. Veiled. If you looked hard enough, you might get a peek at what he was feeling and thinking. But you had to search for that glimpse, and by the time you thought you might be closing in, he knew you were looking and had hidden himself away. 

Looking at him now, she didn’t know what he was thinking. She didn’t have the slightest idea who this man was. And she was suddenly reminded of his words when they had met. How she had said that everyone knew who he was. And his offhand reply . . . which might not have been so offhand. 

“Yeah. They think so.” 

Did anyone really know Charles Carmichael? Was it even possible when he wouldn’t let anyone in?

He was coming closer. As he approached Casey and herself, he said something quietly to the scientist he had been leaning on, and the shorter man nodded and stepped away. Carmichael moved slowly, like he was making sure he could support himself. Because he wanted to be independent. 

And Sarah felt vindicated in her belief that Chuck Bartowski and Charles Carmichael were two very different men who just looked alike.

“Major Casey. Agent Walker,” Carmichael said, his voice a bit rougher and deeper than she remembered it sounding. 

Casey held his hand out to Carmichael. “Actually, it’s Colonel now, Agent Carmichael.” 

Carmichael nodded slowly and then took Casey’s hand to shake it. “Congratulations. And thank you.” 

“Just doin’ my job,” Casey said. “No scrambled eggs for brains, huh?”

“It’ll take everyone a month or so to figure that out. Because they won’t listen to me,” Carmichael said, sounding self-deprecating yet without a hint of annoyance. Then he turned and looked at Sarah. She hadn’t been able to say anything, needing a moment to get herself together. To remind herself that everything was different now. 

“Welcome back,” she said quietly, still clasping her hands together. Feeling strangely shy with his eyes locked on her, and then crushed when he suddenly looked away. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Not--not just for the welcome,” he added, the smallest of catches in his voice. “But for keeping me alive for the past year.” 

That little catch made her think of Chuck. And it made her want to see if maybe, just maybe, against all the logic and science in the world, he was still in there. 

“We . . . we had a lot of help,” Sarah said, unable to take her eyes off him now that he wasn’t looking directly at her. “And a lucky charm bracelet, too.” 

Carmichael’s forehead wrinkled. “A lucky charm bracelet?” 

Funny how your heart could sink because of four little words. Because he had no idea what she was talking about. He didn’t remember. And even though she knew he wouldn’t have any of Chuck’s memories, she still felt a crushing disappointment. Which showed just how big of a fool she was. 

Sarah smiled tightly. “Never mind. If you’ll excuse me, I have to begin my final report.” She paused and turned to Casey, holding her hand out to his. “It was an education working with you, Colonel Casey.” 

He shook her hand slowly. “Walker. You’re a good partner.” 

Casey wasn’t one for unwarranted and flowery praise. So his blunt statement meant a lot to her. She smiled, unable to hold it back, and gave in to her instincts by reaching out and giving Casey a quick, hard hug. “Take care of yourself, John.” 

She didn’t hear him say anything in return, but he did hug her back. It helped take her mind off the little problem of saying goodbye to Carmichael. 

Turning to look at the man who thoroughly confused her, she gave him a small nod. “Good luck in your recovery, Agent Carmichael.” 

Where was this controlled ice queen coming from? Sarah didn’t know. But it was helping her get through this moment, and soon she could be away from all the questions and doubts and uncertainties in her life. 

“Thank you, Agent Walker,” Carmichael said. “Good luck to you, too.” 

God, this was all so awkwardly polite. She had to get away before she suffocated. Turning on her heels, she walked away at a pace just below a jog, calculating how to get back to CIA headquarters, how she should structure her final report, and how she would find her misplaced sanity.

End, Chapter 15


	16. Chapter 16

“Tell the truth,” Carina shouted over the staccato report of gunfire, “you missed this.” 

Sarah quirked an eyebrow at her as she reloaded. “Having a good mission go to hell in a handbasket because you got bored? Oh, yeah, Miller, I dreamed of this. Every night.” 

“What else would you dream about?” Carina smirked before picking off one of the thugs who was stupid enough to try and move closer to them. 

“Not having to take on terrorists while wearing a bikini?” Sarah asked, lifting her gun and rejoining the shoot-out. 

Leaving aside her wardrobe, this was what she needed. A simple, non-complicated mission, involving terrorists using the Miami drug trade as cover to smuggle in weapons. Carina had jumped at the chance to have Sarah’s help and Sarah thought it would be good to get out of her head for a while. Trust her instincts and just do. 

Since Carina was an expert in not thinking and just doing, it seemed like a good idea. And it was working out. For the most part.

“How many left?” she asked Carina as the gunfire started to slacken. 

“Think just two more,” Carina said, before quickly ducking back down behind the wall they were using for cover. “Or maybe three.” 

She popped her head over the wall, then settled back down. “Three. One at three o’clock, the other two at ten o’clock. You take three and I’ll take ten.” 

“Big talk, Walker. Gonna show off what Casey taught you?” 

“If you mean sniper work, sure,” Sarah said, shooting a quick grin at Carina. “He didn’t teach me anything else, unlike you. On three?” 

Carina nodded, her face growing serious. Sarah gripped her gun and took a few breaths, then mouthed a countdown. When she reached three, they both moved around the wall, firing rapidly and targeting the three remaining terrorists. Bullets whizzed past her head, her heart was pounding, and the knot on her bikini top felt distressingly loose. 

But she felt alive. Alive, in the moment and free. 

When she got the second man, Sarah turned to look for Carina. The redhead was feigning disinterest, examining her nails. “All done?” she called out. “Finally.” 

Sarah smiled a little. “Sorry to have kept you from whatever you’ve got planned.” 

With a grin, Carina walked over to her, adjusting her own bikini bottoms. “The celebratory drinking and partying, topped off with wild sex with an almost-stranger?”

“I was thinking more like waiting for the coroner and reporting in,” Sarah said. 

“You know what they say, Walker: all work and no play makes Sarah a very dull girl,” Carina teased. 

“But it also puts her back on the fast track,” Sarah countered, handing her gun to Carina as she double-checked the strings on her bikini top. 

The redhead let out an inelegant snort. “Yeah, sure, you’re totally in the dog house. Did you know Graham called me yesterday, asking how much longer you might be down here?”

“What?” Sarah said, staring at Carina, her hands gripping her bikini ties extra-tightly. 

She nodded. “Said he wanted to talk to you about some kinda special opportunity, but he was giving you time to recover after Operation Bartowski.” Carina eyed Sarah. “Which you haven’t talked about at all.” 

Swallowing, Sarah focused on adjusting her top and then took her gun back from Carina. “What’s there to talk about? I was on assignment for a year and now it’s over.” She turned to start walking towards their SUV. 

“There’s a lot to talk about. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Carina said, falling into step beside her. “To have someone to talk to about all this.”

This must be the downside of having a friend, Sarah through dryly. When you didn’t want to talk but probably needed to, a friend would make you talk. Friendship seemed to have a lot in common with torture: everybody talked.

“Okay, so maybe I came here in case I felt like getting some things off my chest,” Sarah admitted.

Carina grinned. “Knew it. C’mon, let’s put in the call about the bodies, then we’ll get some dinner.” 

“What, no partying?” Sarah asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise as she opened the driver’s side door of the SUV.

“Nothing gets started around here until midnight,” Carina said with a shrug. “If you wanna go out once you’re done spilling your guts, we can go out.” 

Somehow, Sarah doubted she would want to go out. Because facing up to what had happened, what she had done . . . she didn’t think she’d want to dance and drink and have sex after explaining it all. That might be Carina’s M.O., but it wasn’t hers. 

And besides, a girl who was a weepy, emotional, love-confused mess didn’t tend to be pick up material, no matter what she looked like. 

XXX

To Sarah’s surprise, Carina’s choice for dinner was a slightly run-down seafood shack, far away from Miami’s glitz and glamour. At her look, Carina said, “The best mussels and scallops in all of Florida are right here. Plus, they make a damn fine mojito.” 

There was no reason to dislike any of that, so Sarah just smiled and followed Carina into the restaurant. The DEA agent waited until they had ordered drinks and an appetizer of a half-dozen oysters before leaning towards Sarah, resting her folded arms on the table. “Okay, Walker. Lay it on me.” 

Sarah took a long sip from her water glass, trying to gather her thoughts. Trying to figure out just what to tell Carina. How honest to get. But when she looked at the redhead across the table, Sarah found she had a question to ask first. 

“Do I seem different from before?” 

“Before when?” Carina asked. “The last time I saw you before, or before you even started working on that assignment?”

“Either,” Sarah said, clasping her hands together on the tabletop. Hoping that she wasn’t making a mistake by talking to Carina like this. 

Carina tilted her head to one side, then nodded. “Yeah, you’re different. You . . . you’ve warmed up a bit. And you sure like planning missions now, instead of just flyin’ by the seat of your pants.” 

What did either of those statements mean? Sarah gave herself a small shake, not wanting to get distracted. Because there was something important she was about to say. “I knew Carmichael before Operation Bartowski.” 

“I knew it!” Carina said, fortunately keeping her voice low. “I got a hinky vibe from you.” 

Giving a distracted smile to the server who set down their drinks and oysters, Sarah said, “Hinky?”

“Like you were holding back on something big. So you worked with Carmichael before, huh? It must have been trippy to be working with him again, with him not knowing you at all.” 

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Sarah said, lifting her drink. “I slept with him at the end of that first mission.” 

It was unlikely that Carina Miller was surprised very often. But right now, she was definitely shocked. “You slept with him?” she asked, her eyes wide. Recovering quickly, Carina ran her eyes over Sarah. “Sarah Walker, you have hidden depths. How did I not know that about you?”

Rolling her eyes, Sarah sipped her drink. “Yes, I slept with Carmichael. And he bailed on me the next morning, and I didn’t see him again until he had become Chuck Bartowski.” 

“Jesus,” Carina said. “No wonder you were tied up tighter than a nun’s panties in Las Vegas the last time I saw you.”

That description was so vivid that Sarah couldn’t help a momentary snicker before she resumed the conversation. She poked at an oyster as she said softly, “You remember how I told you I had slept with someone after Bryce left? And it was the best ever? That was Carmichael.” 

“Sarah, how the hell did you keep this in for so long?” Carina said, leaning forward.

“I had to,” Sarah said simply. “I didn’t want to jeopardize Carmichael when he was Chuck.” 

“Shit,” Carina said, draining her drink and waving over the server to order another one. Once the waitress had moved off, Carina pinned Sarah with her gaze. “I’m expecting a lot more details, but before we get to the fun/agonizing bits, you need to know something. About what Graham and I talked about.” 

“There’s something more than what you already told me?” Sarah asked, gripping her drink tightly.

“A lot more,” Carina said. “He said that you turned down the chance to be on Carmichael’s new team--a decision I didn’t get when Graham said that, but I sure as hell understand it now--but he’s gonna do everything he can to change your mind, I think.”

Sarah frowned. “What did he say?” 

“Just that it was a shame, when you worked so well with Carmichael, that you weren’t interested and that Carmichael could use your help. Professionally, I hope--from what I’ve heard, Carmichael needs no help in the bedroom, and it’d be kinda gross if that’s what Graham was talking about,” Carina said, wrinkling her nose. 

“Yes, please, let’s focus on work right now,” Sarah said, trying not to sound annoyed at Carina getting distracted by sex. Because the idea that Graham wanted her to join Carmichael’s team--and that he’d stop at nothing to get her on that team--made a shudder go over her. Because Graham had plenty of power. He could make it happen, just by making any other opportunities be closed to her. 

The idea that Carmichael could use her help was news to her. It hadn’t been that long since Carmichael came back: only six weeks or so. She hadn’t thought he’d be ready to go back to work so soon--after all, he had to get back into shape, get firearms certifications renewed, and probably go through hours of briefings to catch up on what he missed in the last year. Even a genius like Carmichael would need time. But then, if he was back in the field, working with that new team, and things weren’t going well, the superiors would do all they could to keep that fact from getting out to the rank-and-file. No need for the golden boy to show his feet of clay. 

And that was an odd mixed metaphor, Sarah thought. She took a sip of her drink as Carina kept talking. 

“Graham sounded pretty determined, Sarah. You got any dirt on him? Something you could use if he pressures you?” 

She shook her head. “No, of course not. You don’t get to be a deputy director by letting your protégés learn anything more than you want them to know.” Sarah sighed and picked up the oyster she had been playing with, eating the meat from the shell. 

Carina eyed Sarah thoughtfully. “Would it be so bad, though? Working with Carmichael?” 

Trust Carina to ask the direct question. To cut right to the chase. Especially when Sarah had done everything she could to avoid thinking that question, let alone coming up with an answer, in the six weeks since she left D.C. In fact, she had done everything she could to not think about Carmichael at all. 

“I . . . I don’t know,” Sarah said, glancing at Carina before lifting her glass and drinking the rest of her mojito. 

A silence fell over the table, broken only by the clink of glasses and the scraping of forks against oyster shells. Then, with real sympathy in her voice, Carina said, “I think you’re gonna need to figure out an answer to that question, Sarah. Sooner, rather than later.” 

Hearing Carina speak like that made Sarah swallow. Because she knew that Carina was right. 

XXX

Sarah pumped her arms as she ran as fast as she could through the streets of Bogota. With the rain coming down in buckets, her pace wasn’t up to her normal standards. But then, the rain also kept her pursuers at a disadvantage, too. 

Maybe she should stop ducking Graham’s phone calls if these were the kind of missions she was getting when he was annoyed with her.

Jamming her fingers against the Bluetooth in her ear, she spoke loudly, trying to reach her local CIA contact. “This is Walker requesting extraction!” 

All she got was static. Sarah cursed and yanked the earpiece out, shoving it into her pocket and picking up her pace. If she could make it to Bolivar Square, to the Museum of the 20th of July, she could get access to a secret cache of supplies. Things she would need to get out of Colombia undetected. 

And once that happened, it was time to stop running.

Oh, she had told herself that she was trying to maintain her independence from Graham. Proving that she was making her own choices. But ever since that mission with Carina two months ago, she had been struggling to find assignments. Struggling to find some kind of clarity or resolve. 

The lists she made, the time she spent thinking . . . she felt no closer to knowing if she should try to work with Carmichael. It was the uncertainty that made it so difficult to decide. She didn’t really know him. They had only worked one mission together . . . and while she had felt a connection with him, that just made her feel more confused. Because was she just remembering it that way to explain how everything had worked out? Why she had slept with him, why it had been so easy to like Chuck, why she had let Operation Bartowski end just as planned instead of running off with Chuck. 

She had been too--well, she didn’t quite know. It wasn’t fear, not entirely. Not hesitant, although that was certainly an element in it. And maybe she just wasn’t sure if she wanted to face this challenge. Face up to what she had done, face up to not knowing what might happen if she worked with Carmichael.

But perhaps if she could just give it a try . . . find a way to get some of these questions answered, then perhaps she would be able to make a real decision. She didn’t know if Graham would go for a trial run like this, but perhaps just getting some kind of dialogue going and offering to compromise would make her situation get better. Both professionally and personally. 

The sound of shouting behind her made Sarah glad she had been able to figure that out--at least for now. Because it looked like she had to stop running on auto-pilot and focus on getting the hell out of Colombia. 

Reaching into her pocket, she tried her Bluetooth again. “This is Agent Walker requesting extraction.” 

“Agent Walker.” The silky voice of Langston Graham filled her ears. “Just the person I wanted to speak with.” 

If she hadn’t been running for her life, she would have frozen in place. “Sir? You’re here?” 

“I’m back in Washington, which is where you will be once you are extracted. I believe we need to talk.” 

Sarah swallowed. “Of course, sir. Where is the extraction point?”

“I’ll pass you off to your local contact. I will see you tomorrow morning at 11 o’clock, Agent Walker.” Graham’s voice brooked no argument, no discussion. It made Sarah feel worried about just what this conversation would hold. Somehow, she doubted there would be as much compromise as she had hoped. 

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Thank you, sir.” 

As the contact came on the line and directed her on where to go, Sarah made herself keep her breathing even and her pace steady. She didn’t want to give any sign that she was freaking out just a little bit. 

XXX

Smoothing down her pantsuit, Sarah stepped into Graham’s inner office. Ever since she had learned about this meeting, she had been brainstorming on how to approach it. Trying to remember that she couldn’t let herself get steamrolled by her boss. It was hard to explain why she felt so nervous about this encounter, when she had managed to hold her own with Graham in the past. It was like her instincts were on high alert. 

And while she had become more thoughtful and more of a planner in the last year, she never ignored her instincts. 

Director Graham rose as she approached his desk. “Agent Walker. You’re looking well.” 

“Thank you, Director,” she said, holding her hand out for a shake. “So do you.” 

He nodded and gestured for her to sit down. “So your exit from Colombia was without incident, once you were able to get assistance?”

“Yes, it was. I’m glad to see the last of that country,” Sarah said, settling into her chair and crossing her legs. “And I’m curious about why you wanted to see me, sir.”

There was no reason to keep beating around the bush and wasting time with small talk. She wanted to get this discussion started. Wanted to know what she was facing. Which did seem to be her mindset lately. 

Graham leaned forward, his hands folded on top of his desk. “No sense in delay. I appreciate that, Agent Walker. You might have heard about how Agent Carmichael is adjusting after Operation Bartowski’s conclusion.” 

“I’ve heard nothing but positive reports,” Sarah said, keeping her voice smooth and calm. 

It was true, too: the word through the grapevine was Charles Carmichael was back from his top-secret mission and had picked up right where he had left off. With his team, he had already completed two or three flashy missions, ones that had gotten a lot of attention within the intelligence community. Combined with Carmichael’s absence for a year, Sarah had heard a lot of talk about him on her own assignments. 

People wondering what he had been doing, coming up with outlandish theories and guessing that he had been deep undercover to defeat Fulcrum. Sarah had stayed quiet and not just because no one would believe her, because the craziest ideas hadn’t come close to what had really happened. But also because the last thing she wanted to do was talk about Carmichael with near-complete strangers.

“Yes, well, the mystique of Charles Carmichael is still intact,” Graham said. “But more objective eyes have found cause for concern when reviewing his recent work.”

Almost against her will, Sarah found herself leaning forward slightly. “Such as?”

“It’s no secret that Agent Carmichael’s methods have always been . . . unique. You saw that for yourself, I’m sure. However, those methods have gotten more unpredictable. And less successful.” 

Now that wasn’t what she thought she might hear. Given how high-profile Carmichael was, if he wasn’t closing cases at the same astronomically high rate, there would have been a lot of happiness on the part of several agents. Operatives who were nowhere near as good as Carmichael, taking arrogant delight in his failures. But she hadn’t heard anything like that. 

“That . . . that is a surprise,” Sarah said quietly. “There hasn’t really been any talk that says Carmichael has lost his edge.” 

“We’ve done our best to keep it quiet. But it’s time for someone to go in and evaluate Carmichael. Someone who is experienced with his style but can judge his work clearly. Someone like you, Agent Walker.” Graham locked his eyes on hers. “At this time, I’m ordering you to join Agent Carmichael’s team and report on his performance and interactions with the rest of the team. To help us identify improvements.” 

Getting an order was fairly rare. At least, she couldn’t recall Graham ever doing that to her before now. In any other situation, she would have protested, a lot, at being given an order. But since this gave her the perfect opportunity to do what she already . . . well, not wanted, but what she probably needed to do, it was in her best interest to accept. 

And she was going to accept . . . even though the thought of reporting back on a fellow agent wasn’t exactly a situation she wanted to be in.

“How long would you want me to be part of Agent Carmichael’s team?” Sarah asked, feeling the butterflies in her stomach for a moment. 

“A few weeks at most. I would think that would be plenty of time for you to have your own opinion,” Graham said after a moment, apparently quite surprised that she wasn’t fighting him.

His surprise made her consider whether to address the elephant in the room: her lack of good assignments after the end of Operation Bartowski. If this had been two years ago, she wouldn’t have hesitated to ask. To put the question to him directly. But her relationship with Graham wasn’t like that anymore. She didn’t see him as the mentor figure he once was. Not now that she wanted different things than what he wanted for her. 

“I suppose you have more detailed information for me?” Sarah asked. “And can I make Agent Carmichael aware of my full assignment?” 

Graham slid a folder across his desk and Sarah leaned forward to accept it. “That has all the reports from Carmichael and his team. He’s expecting a new agent, one that will be reporting back to me, although I haven’t told him who would be coming.” 

Sarah nodded as she flipped through the folder for a moment. “All right.” 

“Given your refusal to join Carmichael’s team, I appreciate your acceptance of this mission, Sarah,” Graham said. “If I might ask, what changed your mind?”

For a moment, she considered just laying it all out for him. Explaining how confused she had been for so long, telling him that she wished she hadn’t changed into this person she was now, because she didn’t know how to handle how complicated her life had become. 

But as difficult and challenging and messy as it was, it was her life. Hers and hers only, and she wanted to make her own mistakes, have her own victories. To finally become Sarah Walker--a real woman, not some name that Graham had bestowed on her when she was seventeen. 

A real woman probably wouldn’t complain about how screwed-up and crazy her life was. So Sarah just gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “I reconsidered my decision enough to know I didn’t have all the information I needed when I made that choice.” 

“Very well,” Graham said, rising from his chair. “Anne has your travel arrangements all set. Agent Carmichael and his team are in Los Angeles right now.” 

She froze in a half-sitting, half-standing position for a moment. LA? Of course. Of course it would be southern California. 

“Is that a problem, Agent Walker?” 

“No--no problem, Director,” Sarah said, quickly coming all the way to her feet. “I’ll get my report to you as soon as it’s ready.” 

“Take your time. We want to know that Agent Carmichael has been thoroughly examined,” Graham said, walking Sarah to the door. “After all, his future might be in the balance.” 

“You’re that worried?” Sarah asked, raising her eyebrows.

The director shrugged his shoulders. “It’s always a possibility. Good luck, Agent Walker.” 

“Yes--thank you,” she said, an anxious feeling settling over her as she left. 

They were really considering forcing out Carmichael? Maybe even firing him? Sarah couldn’t believe it. Perhaps Graham was just trying to show her just how serious he was taking the perceived change in Carmichael. Not that she wasn’t concerned about it. Carmichael seemed to be the living embodiment of the phrase “method to the madness.” He certainly worked differently than any other agent she had met, but she could see that there was a logic and reason underneath it all. 

But if it was harder to see the method now, she could understand how Graham and the other bosses would think they had a loose cannon on their hands. Thus why they were sending her in to report on Carmichael’s team. 

Nothing like the CIA to take an already awkward situation and make it ten times worse. Because Carmichael was bound to be defensive, knowing that she was evaluating him. In fact, he might be downright obstructive if he thought she couldn't be objective. If he thought she might be after revenge. 

Taking a deep breath as she walked through the halls of CIA headquarters, Sarah started making a mental list of how to approach this situation. How to make Carmichael see that if nothing else, she was going to put aside their history in order to be professional. To be fair to him. 

And maybe that mindset would be helpful when it came to dealing with more than just Carmichael’s career. 

XXX

It had only been a few months since she left California, but to Sarah’s surprise, there was a sense of comfort in being back in Los Angeles. This must be what it felt like to come home, she thought as she drove her rental car towards Inglewood from LAX.

Following the driving directions in her packet to the team’s location made her feel like it was Chuck who had written them. The directions used as landmarks Randy’s Donuts, the Garden of Faith Mausoleum and Hollywood Park Race Track. It was the kind of quirky detail that Chuck would put into directions or instructions. And that made her feel confused. Because . . . Chuck was gone. She had to remember that. He was gone and all that was left was Carmichael. Who was a good man, a talented agent . . . but Carmichael wasn’t Chuck. 

She had to stay focused, stay objective, so she could figure out the truth. About Carmichael’s recent work and about herself. 

Soon she had located the address on the directions: a modest-looking brick building, set on a busy street and surrounded by other small businesses. It was a far cry from Castle, that was for sure. And it showed how much pull Carmichael had, that he could set up shop here instead of the CIA forcing him to use the ready-built base in Burbank. 

When she parked her car in front of the building, she took a few deep breaths. She could do this. It was just a few weeks until the job was done. Plus, she would make sure she figured out what her future held. This mission would be about self-discovery. And the first step on that journey was getting out of the car. 

Squaring her shoulders, Sarah stepped out of the car and walked to the building’s door. As she walked into the building, which opened up into a slightly dingy reception area, complete with a bored-looking woman in her twenties seated behind the desk. 

“May I help you?” she asked in a flat voice, her eyes not moving from her inspection of her nails. 

Clearing her throat, Sarah attempted to keep her voice neutral. “Sarah Walker to see Charles Carmichael.”

“Uh-huh,” the woman said, reaching under the desk--apparently to press a hidden button, for a door next to the reception desk swung open. “Through the door and down the stairs.” 

“Thank you,” Sarah said, glancing at the receptionist for a moment before turning and stepping through the door. She moved down the stairs carefully, the dim lighting and her high heels combining to make her cautious. Of course, she was already cautious because of what she was about to walk into.

The stairs let out into a long room with a fairly low ceiling. Sarah guessed it was only about seven and a half feet high--Carmichael must not be claustrophobic. It was brightly-lit, at least, revealing a bank of desks with computers to the left, a conference table and video conference setup in the middle, and gun racks along the right-hand wall. Further down, she could see a glass wall blocking off an exercise area, as well as what appeared to be a private office, probably for Carmichael. 

Standing in the doorway, she took this all in before examining the people inside the base: the members of Carmichael’s team. At first glance, they seemed like typical agents: two women and four men, physically fit and well-groomed. But it was when Sarah looked closer that she saw the details.

One man, blonde with glasses, was idly working a Rubik’s cube as he talked on the phone. A petite woman with delicate features was field-stripping rifles faster than even Casey could. A large swarthy man was delicately dismantling some kind of electronic device. And it certainly looked like two of the agents at the computer closest to Sarah were hacking into the National Bank of Paraguay while singing a song about . . . poisoning pigeons in the park? 

Clearly, Carmichael had managed to find agents who were just as unusual as he was and built them into his team. No wonder Graham was freaking out: this much unorthodoxy in one room must be giving the bosses hives. 

Nobody noticed Sarah for a moment. Then Carmichael stepped out of the office at the end of the room and everything changed. The energy in the room increased, a new tension blooming. Everyone needed to talk to him, it appeared. And this would be a good opportunity to see Carmichael in action with the team, so Sarah hung back, even as the receptionist from upstairs brushed past her and joined the pack. 

He was certainly focused. Each and every member got his full attention as they talked, Carmichael’s brown eyes narrowed and intense. He would nod, or say a short sentence, and the team member’s face would light up. As if Carmichael had just given him or her the solution to all their problems. 

Sarah made a mental note to tread carefully with the team. Get off on the wrong foot with them and she’d probably have to watch her back, since from what she had already seen they weren’t going to take too kindly to their revered leader being examined. 

Speaking of examining him . . . Sarah took a moment to run her eyes over Carmichael. Physically, he looked much more like the agent she had met in a H Street restaurant a year and a half ago: lean and wiry, muscled but not bulky. But there were a few differences. He wasn’t as smooth and polished as before. While he was wearing a pair of suit trousers, a white button-down and a blue-and-grey tie, his shirt was very rumpled and the tie was loosely knotted. His hair wasn’t controlled nearly as much as it had been before; she could almost see the curl coming out, the curls that made her think of Chuck. 

No. No thinking about Chuck. 

Taking a few steps forward, Sarah moved to the edge of the group, waiting to catch Carmichael’s eye. He did a double-take when he saw her, his eyes widening before he looked away quickly and turned to the agent who was speaking to him. 

She was grateful that he looked away, because it gave her a moment to adjust. Because the moment his eyes had locked on hers, she had felt it. Felt that same connection that kept happening, without rhyme or reason. Something she couldn’t explain, because why would she have the same kind of connection with two different men? 

Carmichael finally finished with the last agent and turned to her, his Adam’s apple visibly bobbing and making her wonder just what he was thinking and feeling. “Agent Walker. It’s good to see you.” 

“Nice to see you, too, Agent Carmichael,” she said, hoping the smile she gave him was professional enough. “I’m looking forward to working with you again.” 

A subtle shift occurred in the rest of the team as they all looked at each other and then at herself and Carmichael. She could almost see the wheels turning in their heads as they wondered why she was there. 

“Perhaps we could discuss why I’m here in private?” Sarah said, trying not to feel like a giant spotlight was pointed right at her. 

“Yes . . . of course,” Carmichael said, gesturing back to the office he had exited before. “Come into my office.”

As she headed back to the office, she heard Carmichael speak quietly to the team, telling them to complete their tasks before tonight’s mission. Good; she could come along and watch them in action, learn more about their dynamics. 

The office was small and sparse, with just a desk and two chairs. The only item that made it seem different from any other office was a large poster hung on the wall. A poster she knew very well. 

It was Chuck’s TRON poster. The one that used to hang in his bedroom, the poster that was one of his prized possessions. 

Sarah took a deep breath, trying not to feel like she had been kicked in the stomach. What kind of game was Carmichael playing at? Just what was he doing with that poster, here, in his office? What the hell was going on?

It felt like she was staring at the poster for minutes, but it couldn’t have been more than one before Carmichael stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. “Sorry about that. Please, have a seat,” he said, carefully moving past her to sit in the chair behind the desk. Yet he was still close enough that she could smell that same spicy fragrance that she remembered from their pre-mission drink. 

Slowly, Sarah sank down into the other chair. “Sorry?” she asked, trying to collect her thoughts. 

“For taking so long. Each of my team members are important to me, not the least because they’re all geniuses--but it also makes trying to get them to do something when I want them to do it difficult. Kind of like herding cats,” Carmichael said, shifting a bit in his chair. 

She nodded, even though she wasn’t fully listening. Instead, she was looking at him. Trying to figure out why he seemed so different to her. Or maybe he wasn’t that different and she was just noticing new things about him. But Carmichael definitely seemed . . . softer. Less hard-edged. Less closed-off. If she had been asked to provide concrete details, Sarah wasn’t sure she could. But somehow, Carmichael had changed. 

Taking a breath, she decided to keep this professional for now. Shoving aside all these personal considerations, she folded her hands in her lap. “So Graham told me that you knew an agent was coming . . .”

“To figure out why everything’s going to hell in a handbasket around me?” Carmichael asked, leaning back in his chair. 

“Honestly, I think Graham’s overreacting,” Sarah said. “From your reports, the team has been getting the job done.” 

“Yeah, they have,” Carmichael said. “They’re all good agents. They’ve done their part, so with missions walking that fine line between succeeding and not, it’s natural that more attention would fall on the strategy. In other words, on me.”

This was more like the Carmichael she remembered: insightful, direct. The way he was so complimentary towards the team while taking the blame for any perceived failures, rather than using his power to pin the blame on someone else, was a welcome thing to see, too.

This wasn’t the first time she had been sent in by Graham to evaluate another agent. Usually Sarah had a good idea before she even met with the agent about what the final outcome was. But this time, she had tried to have an open mind, which meant she hadn’t done as much review as she would normally do. And she found an unusual question on the tip of her tongue.

“What do you think?” she asked, looking straight at Carmichael and trying to remain unaffected. 

“About the missions?” At her nod, Carmichael ran his hands through his hair. “I think that we’ve gotten lucky,” he said slowly, as if he was gathering his thoughts as he spoke. “There’s nothing wrong with that, but I’d rather be good than lucky.”

“Because eventually, luck turns on you,” Sarah said. It was one of the first rules you learned at the Farm: to be lucky sometimes was okay, but no one could be lucky all the time. So you better be good, too. 

Carmichael gave her a brief, lopsided smile. “Yeah. So how does this work?” 

Sarah found herself returning his smile with a small one of her own. “I heard you say you have a mission tonight? I’d like to come along and observe. Watch the dynamics for myself.” 

“So I’ll have company in the van,” Carmichael said, standing up. “Great. We’re meeting here at ten-thirty. I’ll show you the back door so you won’t have to worry about being seen on your way in.” 

She nodded and stood up, too. “Good.” 

As she rose, she found her attention captured by the TRON poster again. Before he opened the door, Sarah turned and spoke quickly. “Carmichael? Can I ask you something?” 

He stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and looked at her. “Sure.” 

This was probably a bad idea. So far, Operation Bartowski was like some off-limits topic. Something they shouldn’t be talking about. But perhaps if she started the conversation, it would . . . She didn’t even know what it might do. All she knew was that she wanted to understand why Carmichael had brought Chuck’s poster to his office. 

Gesturing to the poster, she said, “Why is that here?” 

“Oh.” For a moment, Carmichael’s face changed. His expression softened and his eyes became almost vulnerable. “When I ended up here in Los Angeles again, I went to my sister’s place and got some of my old things. I had forgotten about most of them. But not that poster. So . . .” Carmichael shrugged a little before looking back at her, his mask slipping back into place. 

Sarah nodded and started walking towards the door. Carmichael opened it for her, but then partially closed the door, blocking her path. She looked up at him in surprise. 

“At some point, we’re going to need to talk about what happened.”

His eyes were locked on hers. They were dark and deep, swirling with strong emotion. But his voice was so firm and brisk, like he was referring to a failed mission or a report. She didn’t understand him at all. 

When she spoke, she kept her voice low. “About Operation Bartowski?” 

Her answer seemed to frustrate him, but he only nodded. “Yeah.” 

“I thought you wouldn’t remember what happened,” Sarah said, taking a small step to her left. Her fight or flight response was starting to flutter inside her, urging her to get away, to get out of this office and away from him. 

“I don’t,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Fine,” Sarah said quickly. “We’ll talk later.” 

Carmichael looked at her for a long moment, then nodded and stepped back, holding the door open again. “Brody can show you the back door.” 

“Thank you,” she said, moving out of the office at a fast clip. He shut the door behind her and Sarah felt the breath she had been holding rush out of her in a whoosh. 

It would be so incredibly tempting to find a restroom and lock herself inside for a few minutes. Enough time to get herself together, to calm her heartbeat and soothe her nerves. But she couldn’t do that. She had to do her job. 

So Sarah started looking for Brody as she wondered just how she could sit in a van with Carmichael tonight and not lose her mind.

XXX

Just how loud could the keys on a laptop be? 

To Sarah, they seemed to be as loud as gunfire. That was how quiet it was in the van. 

Carmichael was typing away furiously on his computer while she watched the monitors, tracking the progress of the team. They had staked out various locations at the LA docks, awaiting the arrival of a shipment of weapons that were being smuggled in by a new terrorist group: the Ring. 

Based on what Sarah had read, the Ring seemed to be Fulcrum’s less smart, less talented cousin. She was curious about what Carmichael thought about the newest terrorist group, but as soon as she had entered the van tonight, he had been completely focused on his computer or communicating with the rest of the team. It was like he had deliberately put up a wall between them, holding her at arm’s length.

She didn’t understand it. And she didn’t like it. 

Yes, she was there mostly because of her assignment to observe Carmichael. But she was also there for personal reasons, reasons that she was determined to figure out. And maybe Carmichael felt the same way, based on what had happened earlier today. But just because she didn’t jump at the chance to talk about her feelings in some display of cliched, stereotyped female behavior, that was no reason for him to shut her out like this. 

And it was really ridiculous that he was so blatantly ignoring her. It looked like she was going to have to offer the olive branch. But she was only doing it for the mission’s sake. So that she could have an opportunity to evaluate him fairly.

“Carmichael?” 

He held up a finger for a moment and then went back to typing. Sarah nearly groaned in frustration but held it back. Instead, she checked the monitors again, looking for any activity on the pier that the suspected shipment was arriving. 

When he kept typing for a solid three minutes, Sarah turned to him again. “Carmichael.” 

“Kinda busy here, Walker,” he said. 

Sarah felt a flash of anger. “Oh, really?” she said without thinking, reaching out to yank his laptop over so she could see the screen. She only had a few seconds to look before Carmichael yanked it back, but she had seen enough.

“You’re typing gibberish! You’re doing that to avoid talking to me!” 

Carmichael opened his mouth, then closed it. “Okay, yes. Yes, I was keysmashing so I wouldn’t have to talk to you.” 

“Why?” Sarah said, hearing in her voice all the frustration and annoyance and anger she was feeling.

The look he gave her was a silent aria of sarcasm and disbelief. She half-expected him to roll his eyes. 

She turned in her chair, staring at the monitors. “Okay, fine. I know why.” 

“Thank God,” he muttered. “And here I thought you could keep up with me.” 

And the anger that had started to fade inside her roared back to life. She could almost feel the steam coming out of her ears, like she was a volcano about to blow. But then the speakers crackled to life. 

“Unit 1 to base, we’ve got a ship pulling up to the pier.” 

“Unit 2 to base, there’s about six trucks pulling up to warehouse seventeen.”

Sarah swallowed and pushed the anger down, knowing that it was time for her to do her job, just like Carmichael. He had already moved over to have a better view of the monitors as he began conferring with his team. 

“Unit 1, keep an eye on that ship. Report back if you see anything fitting the description of the crates we’re looking for. Unit 2, get close to those trucks and get us plate numbers. Unit 3, move into Unit 2’s former position.” 

There was soft confirmations from each two-man unit, and then silence fell over the van. And this silence was even more tense and awkward than the first one. Sarah clasped her hands tightly, trying not to think about what had just happened. 

After a moment, she saw Carmichael looking over at her from the corner of her eye. He blew out a breath and cut the mikes in the van. “I apologize, Agent Walker. That was out of line.” 

“There was no reason to lie to me like that,” she said quietly. “We could have just kept this professional.” 

Carmichael huffed out a soft laugh. “That would be new.” 

Although such a reaction normally would have pissed her off, something about his sheepish, slightly embarrassed expression--as if he didn’t quite understand why it was so hard to be businesslike with her--made her feel amused. She shot him a grin. 

And his quick grin back, as Unit 2 reported in with the license plate numbers, made her amusement grow. So she settled in to keep watching Carmichael work, which was frankly no hardship because he made spycraft look easy. Simple. Flawless. 

Until it wasn’t. 

One of the units was spotted and shooting broke out. They were pinned down and the other two units couldn’t provide enough cover fire to help them get out. Carmichael turned to her as he stood up, reaching into a compartment in the van. “You still use a S&W 5906?” 

She nodded as he pulled out two tranq guns and then a few boxes of ammunition. “Here,” he said, handing her the ammo. “This probably isn’t what you’re supposed to be doing as part of the evaluation, but I need you to cover me.” 

“Agent safety comes first,” Sarah said, quickly loading her weapon. “Besides, it’ll be like the Dominican all over again.” 

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Is that so?” 

Her cheeks went red as she realized how her innocent words could be construed--which was exactly how he was taking them. He grinned at her and reached for the door of the van. “Save you later,” he said, pulling open the door and jumping out, his tranq guns at the ready. 

Sarah almost stumbled as she climbed out after him. Save you later . . . the words she had said to Chuck during the hostage standoff at the Buy More. It wasn’t exactly a common phrase. Not something Carmichael would know . . . unless he was remembering his time as Chuck. 

Could Carmichael be remembering being Chuck?

XXX

It was nearly two in the morning by the time Sarah dragged herself into her hotel room. Her whole body felt sore and limp, like she was a rubber band that had been stretched too far. Yes, she was suffering from jet lag and had worked hard during the mission tonight, but her physical fatigue was nothing compared to her mental exhaustion.

Because all she had been doing, all night, was thinking about Carmichael.

Throughout the mission, she kept having flashbacks. When she and Carmichael had fought in the van, it was a lot like those missions with Chuck when he broke protocol and discussed personal topics while they were doing surveillance. But then, when she and Carmichael went to rescue the pinned-down unit, it made her think of their first mission together, when bullets were flying through the air and they were trying to escape the president’s mansion. 

Why did her brain keep seeing similarities between Chuck and Carmichael? Other than the physical resemblance, she had thought they weren’t very alike. At least, that was what she had told herself all through Operation Bartowski. She had needed to do that in order to not slip up around Chuck, to not reveal what she knew about Chuck’s real identity. Keeping them as two different men had made it easier. 

But perhaps . . . 

Sarah shook her head and trudged towards the bathroom. Clearly her exhaustion was making her completely illogical, if she was starting to buy Casey’s belief that there wasn’t much difference between Chuck and Carmichael. Sure, Ellie had said her brother had been a nerd when he was growing up, but when she was a kid she had liked rocky road ice cream and riding her bike. She didn’t like either of those things now. At least, she didn’t eat ice cream or ride a bike anymore.

Just because he was a nerd as a kid didn’t mean anything now, Sarah reminded herself as she turned the faucet on and started the shower. She just had to keep reminding herself and maybe she could get through the rest of this assignment. 

Tonight she just wanted to take a shower and fall into bed. Being part of tonight’s mission hadn’t helped her get any closer to determining whether Graham’s concerns had any merit or if he had a darker reason for sending her here. And she wasn’t sure if the fight with Carmichael had helped or hurt whatever truce existed between them. 

Stepping under the spray, Sarah closed her eyes and let the warm water beat down on her body, soothing her muscles. Rolling her shoulders, she let her mind go blank, drifting off into a pleasant daze. She just hoped she didn’t fall asleep in the shower. Going in tomorrow with a black eye from conking herself on the faucet would be embarrassing. 

Especially since she had the sense that Carmichael would be concerned. She bet he was the type to take her face in his hands and lean in close to her, examining the bruise and trying to figure out how much pain she was in. 

The mental image was so vivid that she could almost feel his fingers against her skin. Sarah took a deep breath. She could see him gazing at her, his eyes warm and brown and filled with worry. He’d smile and say something funny and and a bit sweet, something designed to comfort her. And then he would--

Sarah’s eyes flew open. What the hell? Was she--was she just fantasizing about Carmichael? Creating some silly romantic hallucination as if they were star-crossed lovers?

It was one thing to keep dreaming about their night together. That had really happened. She couldn’t escape that memory, even though she had tried to shove it down deep inside her. But making up a daydream like that? Sarah Walker didn’t do that.

And damn it, now she wasn’t tired. Her mind was spinning so fast that she doubted she’d get any sleep tonight. 

Roughly twisting the faucet to the off position, Sarah got out of the shower and dried herself off. It was all Carmichael’s fault. If he hadn’t stood so close to her in the office earlier today, if he didn’t seem so much more like a real person now instead of some enigma, she wouldn’t be thinking about him. 

Dressed in a pair of sleep shorts and a cami, Sarah moved out of the bathroom and wondered what she should do. Try to sleep? Watch some TV? Open up her laptop and do some work? None of them sounded appealing.

There was a small desk area with extra outlets, a reading lamp, and a hotel notepad and pens. Sarah paused and picked up the pad and one of the pens. There was a balcony in this hotel room. She would go sit out there and collect her thoughts. Write down what she was feeling, and then throw away the paper. Maybe that way she could sleep. 

But when she sat down on the patio chair and gazed out at the view of Los Angeles, a sea of twinkling lights against the darkness, she didn’t write anything. She just sat there, wondering if the impossible could ever become possible. 

End, Chapter 16


	17. Chapter 17

It was quite possible that Sarah Walker was going a little bit crazy.

She hadn’t been sleeping well this entire week, ever since she had arrived in California. Part of it was because after the mission on Monday night, there had been another one on Wednesday night, and then she had tagged along with the team on another assignment Thursday afternoon. It had been a while since she had worked at such a fast pace and it was eye-opening to realize just how good this team was, because none of them seemed overly affected by the workload.

The other part of it was working with Carmichael. 

After a few days of observing Carmichael and the team, she knew enough to realize that Graham’s fears were relatively unfounded. She would guess that sending in someone to evaluate Carmichael was all about Graham’s lack of control. It was funny: the CIA wanted Carmichael to be the hotshot agent he had always been, as well as the leader and organizer they were trying to make him into. But since he hadn’t been your typical agent, he wasn’t your typical agent manager, either. 

He was supportive of his team, knew how to get the best out of them, and determined to have the team succeed. And the agents all rose to that challenge because they didn’t want to let Carmichael down. The missions she had observed this week made it clear that this team was effective and efficient in carrying out their mission. 

So at least she was getting her job done. But she was doing that by giving Carmichael as wide a berth as she could. And he was returning the favor. 

But not really. No more than she was. 

Sarah sighed and took a sip from her venti coffee. Yes, she had tried to stay out of Carmichael’s way, to give him space and not interfere with the team’s work. Yes, she had managed to keep out of missions, to just watch and be an observer, so there wouldn’t be a repeat of Monday night. Yes, she had barely talked to him since Monday. 

That hadn’t stopped her from sneaking glances at Carmichael all week. She told herself that her whole reason for being here was observation, which meant watching him. But the idea of looking at him and meeting his eyes . . . she couldn’t do it. So if he turned his head in her direction, Sarah looked somewhere else. 

It was all so ridiculously junior high. She knew that. But with how unsettled she felt, with her emotions a tangled knot inside her, and Carmichael being a genius . . . she wasn’t ready for him to have her figured out when she wasn’t sure of anything. 

Especially not when she was working as hard as she could to not only learn about herself, but about him. 

Who was Charles Carmichael? What did he like to do away from work? What was important to him? Was he just a spy or did he have secret layers that no one knew about? 

She wanted to know the answers. Wanted to know him. But she told herself that until she was ready to write her final report, it wouldn’t be proper to socialize with Carmichael. Not even within the confines of the office. She was determined to stay objective and write a report that wouldn’t be questioned. Otherwise, Graham might send in another agent to reevaluate Carmichael--and that agent might give the CIA the smoking gun they were looking for.

Until that report was at least started, Carmichael was off-limits. And given how he had backed off after his initial try at crossing the divide between them, Sarah had to assume that he was thinking along the same lines as she was. Or he had decided to not even bother trying again. 

“Agent Walker?” 

The fact that her training prevented her from jumping in shock and turning bright red at Carmichael speaking to her made said training worth all the hard work. Taking a breath, she turned around in her chair and looked up at him. “Agent Carmichael.” 

He leaned down, resting his hands on the top of her desk and pitching his voice low. “My sister is upstairs. We’re having lunch today, but the team meeting is going a bit long. I don’t suppose you could keep Ellie company until I’m ready to go?”

This was something she was not expecting. It was something she wasn’t sure how she should react to. Because with the rush of finishing Operation Bartowski, she hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye to Ellie. And that was rude, considering that Ellie was . . . 

What? A friend? Maybe. They had certainly bonded over the need to protect her brother. And Ellie had never done anything to make Sarah feel less than welcomed. Ellie had treated her like part of the family, even though it was only a temporary situation. 

And Carmichael was asking a favor of her. Something simple, something she was happy to do. Thanks to Ellie, they were talking for the first time in days. And it wasn’t much, but maybe . . . maybe this was all they needed to get out of this weird limbo. Because once they could talk to each other, she could share her initial thoughts about why Graham had sent her and they could talk about the solution she had in mind. 

“Of course, Agent Carmichael,” she said, pushing her chair back and standing up. He straightened up at the same time, a look of relief on his face. 

“Thank you,” he said, the sincerity in his voice taking her by surprise. 

“I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye to Ellie,” she found herself saying. “I hope she won’t be too mad at me.” 

A quicksilver smile flashed across his face. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you,” he said, turning to walk back over to the conference table that the team was clustered around. 

Smoothing down her skirt, Sarah took a deep breath and headed for the stairs. She was doing this for Carmichael. And it would be good to see Ellie again. If Ellie didn’t get angry with her. Because a mad Ellie was not a good Ellie to be around.

The female Doctor Woodcomb was standing with her back to the stairs, dressed in a pair of jeans and a blouse. She was scrolling through her phone as she waited, tapping one foot. 

Sarah cleared her throat and pasted on a smile. “Ellie.” 

Ellie jumped and turned around, her eyes wide. “Oh my gosh! Sarah?” The older woman immediately smiled brightly and walked over to hug her. “It’s so good to see you!”

For just a moment, Sarah enjoyed the hug. Enjoyed the show of friendship. Then she stepped back and gave Ellie a small, sheepish smile. “I suppose you’re mad at me.” 

“I am?” Ellie asked, looking confused. “Why would I be mad?”

“For leaving? Without saying goodbye?” 

“Pfft, it’s okay,” Ellie said, waving a hand in the air. “After all, Chuck called and told me that you were leaving.” She paused and shook her head. “It’s hard, going back to calling him Charles like before.” 

Chuck had told Ellie she was leaving? When? Sarah frowned. It must have been the night she had left him at the Lincoln Memorial. Which made sense--he would have wanted to talk to someone sympathetic like Ellie. But what else might he have told her? 

She wanted to pump Ellie for information, but it didn’t seem the right time. Not when Carmichael could come up here at any moment and interrupt them. So she changed the subject. 

“Carmichael--um, I mean Charles--he asked me to come up and apologize for keeping you waiting. He’s in a staff meeting.” Sarah smiled at Ellie. 

“So he sent you up to babysit me and keep me from finding out anything about his big bad spy life,” Ellie said with a laugh. “You’d think he was older than me, the way he tries to protect me.” 

“Overprotectiveness is pretty common in this life,” Sarah said. “And considering that you’re his sister, of course Charles wants you to be safe.” 

Ellie rolled her eyes. “I’m a doctor and a grown woman. I think I can decide what is and isn’t safe. Especially after being part of Operation Bartowski.”

“You were such a big help at the end, Ellie.” Sarah lowered her voice. “You risked so much--”

“I didn’t risk anything important. Not when it’s compared to my brother,” Ellie interrupted. 

Sarah looked at Ellie, the determination and sincerity in her voice making her think of Carmichael when he had asked her to come upstairs and meet Ellie. Because she really meant what she said: she would do anything to protect her brother. And that meant Carmichael would do anything to protect Ellie, too. 

Before she could think of anything to say further, the sound of footsteps came up the staircase and Carmichael appeared. “Hey. Sorry, Ellie,” he said, stepping up and kissing his sister on the cheek. 

“It’s okay--it gave me a chance to say hi to Sarah.” Ellie smiled widely, a glint in her eye. “Have you two gotten to know each other better? Maybe you should have dinner together.” 

Carmichael blinked, his eyes going wide. Sarah felt her cheeks turn pink. “Um, actually, given my assignment here, it’s not really proper--” she began to say, only for Carmichael to interrupt her. 

“I--I don’t know that dinner is the best way to get to know each other . . .”

“Charles!” Ellie said, looking at him and saving Sarah from having to speak. Which was a good thing, because that line was just so _Chuck_ that she needed a minute to recover. And to wonder once again about who Charles Carmichael was. 

“Ellie, let’s get to lunch. Agent Walker, I’ll see you later,” Carmichael said, taking his sister by the arm and almost dragging her out the front door. 

Watching them, Sarah folded her arms over her chest. Was Ellie attempting to pair her brother up with Sarah? Again? But it was different now. Carmichael wasn’t Chuck, after all. 

Was he?

Shaking her head, Sarah headed back downstairs. She had work to do, and it wouldn’t get done if she stood around wondering about questions that were impossible to answer. 

XXX

When Carmichael returned after an hour and a half, he made a beeline for his office, his eyes fixed straight ahead of him. Sarah noticed the tension in his shoulders and guessed that lunch hadn’t gone well. Knowing Ellie, she had probably tried to badger him about something. Hopefully not about having dinner with her. Because the whole situation with Carmichael was already awkward enough. Having his sister get involved, even though she was trying to help, would make the uncomfortably messy plight even worse. 

Throughout the afternoon, Sarah found herself glancing over at Carmichael’s office. She wanted to talk to him about what had happened so far, about some suggestions she had that could help Carmichael deal with any future interference from Graham. But if this was a bad time . . . 

And she was being ridiculous. She needed to be professional. Focus on the job. Talking to Carmichael about the image he was presenting would be a good first step towards wrapping up this assignment. To the day when she could write her final report and then move on to whatever she decided to do about Carmichael. 

Pushing away from her desk, Sarah stood up and headed towards Carmichael’s office. She kept her shoulders squared and her face composed. There was nothing to be worried about. She could have a nice, business-like meeting with Carmichael and then have her weekend to think over what she was going to do once the job was done. 

Sarah lifted her hand and rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. As she waited, she looked around, seeing the other team members studiously not paying any attention to what she was doing. 

After no response, Sarah knocked again. She was opening her mouth to call out his name when Carmichael yanked open the door, his face annoyed until he saw her. “Walker.” 

“Is this a bad time?” 

He shook his head. “No . . . no. What can I do for you?”

Giving him what she hoped was a cool, professional smile, she nodded towards his office. “Can I speak with you?” 

“Of course,” he said, stepping back so she could come in. 

She moved past him, getting a whiff of that same spicy cologne of his, the one that made her want to breathe deeper. Instead, she crossed to the chair in front of his desk and sat down. 

“I wanted to talk a little about what I’m thinking so far,” Sarah began, trying to ease into the conversation as much as possible. “About your team.”

Carmichael’s face was curious, his eyebrow raised, as he sat down. Sarah noticed that instead of the slightly-rumpled, more casual look he had seemingly adopted, right now his shirt sleeves were rolled down, his top button was fastened and his tie was snugged up right against his collar. It made him seem less approachable. More like the superstar CIA agent he was. She wondered why he was all buttoned-up. 

“And just what are you thinking, Agent Walker?” he asked, sitting up straight with his hands folded in front of him on his desk. 

“These are just preliminary thoughts, but I haven’t seen anything that makes me think the team’s out of control or there’s anything to be deeply concerned about,” Sarah began. 

“Contrary to what Graham thinks?”

Sarah nodded. “Yes. Because I think this is all about control.” 

His lips twisted. “You don’t say.” 

Something about his sarcastic, knowing tone didn’t put her back up, when someone else speaking that way would have made her feel annoyed. In fact, it made her laugh a little. “I know. Shocking, right?”

“I never would have suspected it of Deputy Director Langston Graham of the CIA,” Carmichael said, relaxing back in his chair with a half-smirk on his face. 

Tucking back a stubborn lock of hair that wouldn’t stay out of her eyes, Sarah gave him a small smile. “So yes, it’s about Graham wanting control. And unfortunately, you’re making it easy for him.”

She could see his eyebrows draw together as he digested that. “What do you mean?”

“Your reports chalk up any unexpected problem, any delay or issue, to yourself,” Sarah said, leaning forward a little. “It’s a great quality for a regular person, but for a spy leading a team, it’s not. You’re giving them too much insight into your process.” 

“That might be the first time I’ve ever had that described as a character flaw,” Carmichael said, sounding amused, annoyed and slightly flustered. 

“Only in the CIA,” Sarah said, trying to sound reassuring. Wanting to put his mind at ease. “Everyone knows who you are and everyone knows you’re a genius. Before, you just made the mission work, no matter how ill-conceived. But now, you’re having to explain yourself.” 

It was clear when the lightbulb went on for him. “No one wants to know how the magic happens.” 

“Yes, exactly!” Sarah said, leaning forward and resting her crossed arms on her knees. “You never want them to know how you do it. And you’re giving them too much in your reports. Leave out the details and keep it to the basics and you’ll get Graham off your back.” 

He shook his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see that. It makes complete sense. I had thought as the boss that I needed to provide more information, but it looks like it backfired on me.” 

Being the one to point out something to Charles Carmichael made her feel . . . something. Through the last year, she had lost some of her confidence in her abilities as a spy. She felt like she had gotten by too much on luck, something she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Instinct was one thing and luck was another. She was fine working on instinct. 

But if she could teach Carmichael something, maybe there was no reason to doubt herself. 

“I still have another week or so here before I’ll begin my final report . . . do you want to see how the powers that be react to a less-detailed report before I start writing?”

“Yes, I would like to see that.” He gave her a quick wink. “We’ll keep this to ourselves, though.” 

For a moment, she felt a flutter in her middle. How could he shift so quickly from confusion to confidence? He had almost seemed embarrassed by missing something so simple, but then he got this swagger about him . . . she didn’t know how he made the switch, but it was intriguing. 

“Okay,” she said, rising to her feet. “That’s all I had to say. Time to get back to work.” 

“Yeah . . . Walker? I mean, Sarah?” 

Sarah paused, her hand reaching out for the doorknob. “Yes?” she asked, facing him. 

Whatever momentary confidence he had seemed to have deserted Carmichael slightly. He tugged on his tie and undid his collar button. “I was wondering . . . would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” 

Blinking, she let her hand fall to her side. “Excuse me?”

“I said at some point we needed to talk,” he said, standing up and joining her. “Why not tonight?” 

“Are you doing this because of Ellie?” she asked quickly, looking up at him. “Did she work on you about having dinner with me?”

“Yeah, she did,” Carmichael said, a small smile twisting his lips. “But that’s not why I’m asking you out.” 

She took a moment to try and figure out what he meant by that. By saying Ellie wanted this to happen, he could have hidden behind his sister--he could have said that he was asking her for a date because Ellie had talked him into it. But instead, he acknowledged what his sister wanted and then discarded the safety of that cover. He stepped forward and said he had his own reasons for asking her to dinner. 

The last thing she should say was yes. It was such a bad idea. She knew this. She looked up at him, ready to say no, when something in his face stopped her. Something that was slightly hesitant, almost vulnerable. Like he was thinking she would say no but was asking anyway. 

It was the kind of thing Chuck would do. 

Moistening her lips, she nodded. “Okay. Yes.” 

The change that came over his face was like watching the sun come up. In a moment, his eyes brightened, the corners of his lips went up, and the small wrinkle that had been on his forehead smoothed out. But more than that, it was the brightness of his smile. The crinkling of his nose. The expression in his eyes, sparkling with surprise and excitement. 

Something about seeing such an unfiltered reaction made her stomach drop as her heart jumped into her throat. Made her feel unsettled and unsure about tonight. Made her feel tingly and eager about this date. She still wished she had said no but was very glad she had said yes. And she really wanted to know just why he had asked her out. 

But most of all, she wanted to know why he kept reminding her of Chuck. Like right now, when Carmichael’s face looked like it had in the same moment when she had told Chuck that their first date had been the best first date she had ever had. 

Carmichael must have felt he was giving too much away, because he suddenly straightened up and cleared his throat. “I can pick you up around seven?” 

Nodding quickly, Sarah worked to find her voice. “That’s fine. I’m staying at the Jamaica--”

“Jamaica Bay Inn in Marina Del Rey,” Carmichael said, before he swallowed. “Graham’s assistant asked for hotel suggestions for the agent being sent out here. I recommended the Jamaica Bay.” 

“Oh.” Why was the thought that he had picked her accommodations affecting her? And she really needed to get out of this office. “Tonight at seven, then,” she said, reaching for the doorknob again. 

“Tonight,” Carmichael said, his voice low. 

She glanced at him for a split-second, just long enough to see that his eyes were still bright, before she turned and hurried back to her desk, her heels clicking against the cement floors. 

Hopefully, the click-clack drowned out the sound of her heart pounding.

XXX

Sarah gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Given the amount of time she had spent thinking about how she wanted to look tonight, it was frustrating that she still wasn’t satisfied. 

After her conversation with Carmichael, Sarah had volunteered to help with some paperwork. It wasn’t much more than data entry, which allowed her to spend the rest of the afternoon considering her date with Carmichael. Although was it a date? Certainly he had used the words “go out with me” but that could just be a way for them to talk about work without the rest of the team around. And she still suspected that Ellie had played a role in all this. 

Rolling her eyes, Sarah picked up her mascara and applied another coat. She was overthinking this. She had to eat, he had to eat, so having dinner together was no big deal. And as he said, they needed to talk. He must be full of questions about what had happened during Operation Bartowski. Reports would only give him part of the story--the cleaned-up, sanitized version. Even though it would be difficult to talk to him, he deserved to know the truth. Or at least as much of the truth as she could tell him without revealing all her secrets. 

With a glance at the clock, Sarah knew that Carmichael should be here any minute. She took a quick look at herself, hoping that boots, jeans, and a blue top with small buttons would be appropriate for where they were going. Her hair was down around her shoulders and her makeup was a bit heavier than her everyday look, but certainly not in a noticeable way. And with her knives strapped around her ankle and one tucked into the back of her jeans, she was ready for anything. She hoped.

A firm, rhythmic knock on the door broke her out of her thoughts. Grabbing her leather jacket and bag, Sarah walked to the door, feeling a strange mix of novelty and familiarity. It was like having déjà vu but not. 

Pulling open the door, she made her best attempt at a friendly smile. “Hi.” 

Carmichael gave her a quick smile and a nod. “Hi, Walker. Or Sarah, I guess.” 

“Sarah works,” she said, stepping out and pulling the door shut behind her. She looked him over quickly, taking in a casual Carmichael: jeans, a black button-down, a black leather jacket, and . . . was he wearing the same kind of sneakers Chuck used to wear? 

“Good,” he said, keeping an appropriate amount of space between them. “I hope you’re hungry, because we’re going someplace that believes in big portions.” 

She wasn’t sure if she was hungry, to be honest. Not with the way her stomach seemed to keep flipping. But she just nodded. “Yeah.” 

In a somewhat awkward silence, they started walking towards the elevator. Sarah glanced at his feet again, seeing that the sneakers he was wearing, although similar to the ones Chuck used to wear, were not an exact match. And while she was a little bit relieved, she was also curious. Was this a normal choice for him? After all, the only time she had seen Carmichael when he wasn’t on a mission, he had clearly just come from work. And even though his look seemed to be more casual now, he certainly didn’t wear sneakers with suits. 

By the time they were in the elevator, the silence was going from awkward to downright uncomfortable. Sarah wracked her mind for some topic of conversation and finally settled on something that seemed moderately safe. “How was your lunch with Ellie?”

He let out a soft huff of laughter. “She’s the one who should have joined the CIA. Our interrogators have nothing on her.” 

“Ouch,” Sarah said, feeling sympathetic. She could imagine that Ellie wouldn’t pull her punches when it came to telling her brother what she thought. 

“Yeah. But it’s great to be able to see her again.” Carmichael paused for a moment. “Up until about two years ago, we didn’t have a lot of contact.” 

“Ellie had mentioned that to me,” Sarah said, glancing at him. 

Carmichael met her eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “Before Operation Bartowski kicked off, I had lunch with Ellie. She told me a little about your relationship.” 

“Hopefully nothing too embarrassing,” he said, before his lips twisted in an amused smile. “Although I’m sure you’ve got plenty of embarrassing anecdotes about Chuck.” 

“Not really,” she said, stepping off the elevator with him. “And besides, that’s not you.” 

“I wouldn’t be so--” 

Sarah frowned as he pulled his keys out of his pocket, not looking at her as he stopped mid-sentence, cutting himself off. “You wouldn’t be so what?” 

It took him a moment to meet her eyes, then he shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing. My car’s just over here.” He took off, his long legs crossing the lobby easily. 

Taking a few fast steps, Sarah caught up with him as she tried to figure out just what he had stopped himself from saying. 

XXX

El Compadre? 

Clearly, the universe’s sense of irony was more developed than hers. Because they were having dinner at the restaurant where her “first date” with Chuck had happened. Given how strained the drive here had been--full of halting conversation and a lot of concealed glances, at least on her end--Sarah didn’t want to let on about the significance of the restaurant. But as they were seated, she couldn’t help making some kind of comment. 

“You seem to like Mexican. First the place in D.C. and now here . . . ” 

Carmichael looked at her over his menu. “I am a fan. And this is my favorite restaurant in LA.” 

Ahh. Perhaps that was why Chuck had picked El Compadre for their first date. And once again, there was another sign of the wall between the Chuck and Carmichael personalities being a lot more porous than she had thought. 

“Why is it your favorite?” she asked, glancing at the menu and setting it aside, surprised when Carmichael did the same. 

Her surprise must have shown, because he gave her a quick, frankly heartwarming grin. “I’ve got the menu memorized, practically. Which probably answers the question.” 

“I’d say so,” Sarah said, laughing softly. 

He ducked his head for a moment, but not enough for her to miss the wide smile that bloomed on his face. When he looked back at her, he wasn’t smiling quite so widely and she wondered why. 

The arrival of their waitress made Sarah switch gears to what to eat. Settling quickly on a margarita and one of the specials while Carmichael ordered a beer and enchiladas, Sarah tried to determine what they could talk about that would continue the tentative ease they had gained between themselves. 

“I’ve always liked Mexican food, too. Although Chinese and Japanese are my favorites,” Sarah said, taking a sip of water from her glass. 

“If only because chopsticks are good weapons?” Carmichael asked with a grin. 

“That’s not the only reason,” Sarah said, knowing her smile belied her prim tone. “But it does help.” 

Carmichael let out an inelegant snort. “Like Kipling said, the female of the species is more deadly than the male.”

“You really think so?” she asked, propping her chin up on one hand.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, nodding emphatically. “You’ve seen Ellie. She’d fight like a cobra if anyone hurt me or Devon or anyone she cared about. And then there’s you.” 

Sarah arched an eyebrow, working hard to keep her face blank. “Is that a compliment?”

For a second, Carmichael looked flustered. Almost like he had said something without thinking it through. Then he nodded again. “Yeah, it is. Because you’re the same way: if anyone got in your way, you’d get them out of your way. And that’s pretty amazing to watch.” He took a quick sip from his water glass, as if he needed a moment before looking back at her. 

And the impact of his warm brown eyes locking with hers was enough to make her lean back a little in the booth. Because hearing him compliment her on something that most men--that most _people_ \--would find distasteful or disturbing was . . . she didn’t know how it made her feel. Proud? Surprised? Turned on? 

Giving her head a small shake, Sarah shifted on the upholstered seat. “Thank you,” she said, hoping her face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. 

He shrugged one shoulder. “Why else do you think I wanted to work with you again? Given the circumstances, I knew there had to be someone who could fight like you for . . . for Chuck. And why get someone like you when I could get you?” 

As Carmichael looked up and smiled his thanks to the waitress as she set down their drinks, Sarah immediately reached out to grab hers, taking a large sip that was closer to a gulp. Getting complimented like this . . . she hadn’t expected it. Wasn’t prepared for it. And it made her feel like she had a fire in her belly, one that was spreading through her whole body. 

God, the margarita would be either the best idea ever or the worst one in the whole world. She made herself set it down and then reached out to dunk a chip into the complimentary salsa. As she chewed on the spicy-crunchy combination of chip and salsa, she saw that Carmichael had given her the perfect opening to shift into the real topic of conversation for tonight. 

“So . . . Operation Bartowski,” she said quietly. “I noticed how you said I was protecting Chuck and not you.” 

Carmichael lowered his bottle of Dos Equis. “Well . . . yeah. I mean, that’s who was part of Operation Bartowski: Chuck Bartowski, Nerd Herd supervisor and all-around nice guy. Not Charles Carmichael, CIA agent and . . .” He let his voice trail off for a moment before giving his head a small shake. “And whatever I am,” he said quietly. “Chuck needed someone like you to keep him safe.” 

“Because he was a civilian. No training, no experience with the spy life,” Sarah said, trying to get a better sense of what Carmichael had intended for the operation. Or maybe it was more just making sure she was hearing him correctly, because it was a little freaky how he saw Chuck as a different person, just like she did. 

Nodding, Carmichael took a chip, filled it with salsa and popped it into his mouth. “Yeah, exactly. From the reports I’ve read, he needed a lot of looking after.” 

“Sometimes,” Sarah admitted. Carmichael shot her a look, one that said he wasn’t buying what she was saying, and Sarah had to smile a little. “Okay, most of the time. But he did a lot of good.” 

Thinking about Chuck, talking about him, made her bittersweet feelings about Operation Bartowski come to the forefront. She had made more than a few mistakes over that year . . . but she felt like those mistakes had made her better. Made her feel more grounded and certain of herself. Yeah, she was confused about how Carmichael made her feel, but--but it didn’t scare her. Not like it had the first time they had met, when she had tried to push away what she felt or deflect her feelings with anger and impatience. Now she knew that you could only run for so long before you had to face things. 

Looking across the table at Carmichael, as he sipped his beer and munched on chips, Sarah thought that the expression on his face looked familiar. Not in terms of his features or anything like that. But there was something about how his eyes looked sad and a little hooded, and the way his forehead wrinkled a little while he was lost in thought, that made her think that he was in the same kind of place that she had been just before the start of Operation Bartowski. Like he was standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff, not sure if he should keep clinging to the solid but disappearing ground or if he should try his luck and jump.

It wasn’t easy to jump. She couldn’t say that she had jumped, not really: more like she took tiny leaps down the face of the cliff for most of the way. But Carmichael . . . he seemed like the type to take the chance and go for it. But would he?

“He racked up some big wins,” Carmichael said, tapping his fingers lightly against his bottle of beer. 

She nodded as she sipped her margarita slowly. “Yeah, he did. The three of us--me, Chuck and Casey--worked together pretty well.” 

“Can I ask you something?” he asked, leaning forward and lowering his voice. 

Surprised, Sarah eyed him for a moment. “Sure,” she said, hearing the slight hesitation in her voice. 

It didn’t seem to sway Carmichael. “What did you think of him?” 

“Chuck?” she asked, buying a little bit of time. Because it was pretty obvious who Carmichael was referring to. She didn’t even really need his small nod of acknowledgement. But it gave her a moment to sort out her thoughts. To decide just how honest she was going to be with him. 

“I liked him,” Sarah began. Because that was certainly true. “He became a good friend. And he taught me a lot.” 

Carmichael’s expression looked equal parts frustrated and curious. “Could you maybe be a little more specific?” 

Even though she really wanted to turn the tables and ask him why he wanted to know what she thought about his alter ego, Sarah took a deep breath and answered his question. “It’s been a long time since I worked around anyone who wasn’t a spy. And Chuck was not a spy. He . . . he might have the intelligence to do so and he certainly wanted to help people. But whatever the quality is that makes you into a spy, Chuck didn’t have it. He was sweet and kind and nerdy and smart, but . . . but he wanted a normal life.” 

As she spoke, she could see Carmichael hanging on her every word. He seemed so eager to know about Chuck. It made her wonder . . . 

“You were the one who developed Chuck’s personality, right?” she asked, looking right at him. Hoping she could compel him to answer her, just as he seemed to do so effortlessly to her. 

He nodded as he took a long drink from his beer. “I did.” 

“So how did you come up with all these elements?” 

That was a question she had always wanted to know. It was one thing for Ellie to talk about how much Chuck was like the little brother who had left for boarding school as a twelve-year-old, only to become Charles Carmichael. But she had always been curious about how Carmichael had seen himself and just what made him decide to base his cover identity on his younger self, to be the kind of man he might have grown up to be if things had been different for him. 

It seemed like her question had floored him, because it took him a few minutes to reply. In the meanwhile, their waitress set down their dinners and Sarah found that she was actually pretty hungry. So she dug into her chile relleno and gave Carmichael time to think. 

“The easy answer is that I thought it would be the best cover,” he began without any preamble. “Who’d suspect nerdy Chuck Bartowski, the guy who never seemed to live up to his potential, as the guy to have something like--well, you know.”

Sarah gave him a small nod of acknowledgement, since of course they wouldn’t want to talk about the Intersect in a public place. 

“But the real answer is . . . that was who I used to be.” Carmichael looked at her, his face carefully neutral. “When I was twelve, I was the biggest nerd you’d ever see. I read comic books, I played video games all night long, I spent hours thoroughly discussing with my best friend if there would ever be more Star Wars movies and just what those movies should be about.”

So Ellie hadn’t been exaggerating. Young Charles Carmichael had been just who she said he was: a nerd, a geek, one of those kids who loved sci-fi and robots. The kids she had steered clear of growing up, because they were so smart and so passionate and so eager for friends that they’d reach out to anyone--even the strange girl who sometimes didn’t answer to her name. Because it wasn’t really her name. 

Licking her lips, Sarah took a small sip of her margarita. “So . . . so why do it? Why give Chuck Bartowski all the traits that Charles Carmichael used to have?” 

Carmichael looked confused, a forkful of enchilada hovering in the air as he looked at her. Then he lowered his fork and let out a laugh. “Sarah, you don’t know?” 

“Know what?” she said, her eyes narrowing. 

“Bartowski is my real name,” he said. “When I joined the Agency, it was suggested I go with something a bit less distinctive. I picked Carmichael and started having people call me Charles instead of Chuck.” 

Her mind was whirling and she didn’t really know why. How could knowing that Charles Carmichael was really Chuck Bartowski, at least as far as his name went, made her feel like she had been wrong about everything? 

He looked at her curiously. “I would have thought you’d have figured it out, since Ellie’s maiden name is Bartowski.” 

“I . . . I didn’t know that,” Sarah said slowly. “I mean, she’s married now so I only ever heard her use Woodcomb.” 

“Ahh,” Carmichael said. “So, yeah. I’m really Chuck Bartowski. When I had to start building a cover personality . . . it seemed like the simplest solution to use my real name since no one knew me by it.”

Sarah watched as he picked up his fork and resumed eating his enchiladas. After a moment, she mechanically began eating again as well, needing something that wouldn’t give away how she was dealing with this unsuspected truth. 

It shouldn’t be rocking her foundations so much, to know what Charles Carmichael’s real name was. After all, it wasn’t like it was that uncommon. Quite a few recruits would take up a new name during training, or even before they arrived at the Farm. She had been given her name by Graham when he recruited her, after all. It had been so long since she had used her actual name that she could barely remember it. And after nearly ten years as Sarah Walker, it had become more real than any of the identities she had used while traveling with her father. 

But . . . this was different. This was Charles Carmichael, one of the best spies in the CIA, choosing to use his real name for a cover identity that was supposed to protect him during a year-long operation that was the most deep-cover assignment ever. Why would he do that? It was such a huge risk, something that could have backfired horribly onto the one person that both Chuck and Carmichael was closest to: his sister. 

There must have been a reason for Carmichael’s choice. One that she hadn’t figured out, one that he was holding back on. And she wanted to know what that reason was. 

And more than that . . . could that explain the overlap between the personalities? How Carmichael seemed to come out in Chuck and how Chuck came through Carmichael? If Chuck Bartowski was who Carmichael used to be, it would explain how strong those traits were in the implanted personality and why it worked so well. Because it wasn’t some brand-new collection of traits that Carmichael implanted in himself. They were quirks and likes and dislikes that he himself used to possess. 

Sarah frowned to herself. That might explain what had happened during Operation Bartowski--how Chuck Bartowski seemed so real. It didn’t really explain why scraps of Carmichael’s knowledge seemed to pop up from time to time, but she could probably come up with a logical reason for that bleed-through, given a few more minutes’ thought. Maybe something to do with Carmichael asserting himself against Chuck, just like he had originally. But no matter how much time she spent thinking, Sarah was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to understand why she kept seeing aspects of Chuck in Carmichael now. 

He was back in the driver’s seat. There was just Charles Carmichael, and if he didn’t remember anything from the last year, to the point that he had to ask her questions about what she thought of Chuck . . . how was the nerd popping up in the spy?

“Sarah?” 

The sound of his voice, and the concern in it, snapped her out of her thoughts. “What? I mean, I’m sorry. I--I kind of drifted off there.” 

He gave her a small smile. “I hope it’s not too boring, me asking you questions about Operation Bartowski.” 

She shook her head. “No, no, it’s okay. I guess I’m just . . . curious. You said you’ve read the reports?”

“Yep,” he said before drinking the last of his beer. “Graham didn’t want me to see them at first, but I really wanted to read them. Enough that I was willing to throw my weight around a little--just to show him how much I wanted to see them--only for Graham to give in.”

“Why did you want to read them?”

Carmichael’s expression made her feel like an idiot for asking. Because really, it was pretty obvious. But she wanted to hear him say it. Wanted to know what he was thinking. 

“It’s a year of my life I don’t remember,” he said quietly. “I knew that going in. Or that the chances of me remembering anything were pretty slim. So of course I wanted to know what happened.”

“I can’t imagine what that was like. Knowing the risk you were taking and having to sacrifice a year . . .” Sarah suddenly realized that she had leaned in and lowered her voice. Making this much more intimate than she had intended. 

His eyes were the color of whisky and twice as unnerving. Because she felt like she could see what he was thinking and feeling. Whatever barrier he used to put up wasn’t there anymore. And what was intimate a moment ago now was charged with something more. Like they were the only two people in the restaurant. 

“We--we give up a lot for this job,” he said, tracing small circles on the tablecloth with his fingertips. “To the point where I didn’t see that I was losing that much by taking this assignment.” 

Sarah swallowed. There was something in his voice. Something that sounded a lot like yearning. That he didn’t like losing a year. That he felt like he had missed out. Maybe that was why he wanted to know what happened during Operation Bartowski--he wanted to know what Chuck had during that year. 

“Did reading the reports help?” she asked. “I mean, did it jog any memories or anything?”

He sighed softly and shook his head. “They helped me know what had happened. The facts, you know?” he said, looking at her. “But no, I didn’t remember anything. Not really.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he said, giving her a small, weak smile. “I mean, it’s not like I expected to remember. It’s probably a blessing in disguise.” 

If she knew him better, she’d punch him in the shoulder and call him a liar. Because there was no way he really thought that. He wanted to remember. He wanted to know what Chuck Bartowski had experienced. She was sure of it. 

But instead of punching him, she tilted her head to one side. “And why’s that?” she asked, keeping her voice soft. Not because she was trying to seduce information out of him, but because . . . she really wanted to know. And because she wanted to help him. She didn’t think he let many people in. He was a little bit like her in that sense. During Operation Bartowski, she had Casey and Ellie, people she could discuss Chuck with. And there was Carina now. Who could he talk to about this? And he really seemed to need to talk about this. 

The irony and almost hypocrisy of Sarah Walker, of all people, wanting someone to talk about their feelings was not lost on her. But it wasn’t about her--it was about him. Charles Carmichael, who was born Chuck Bartowski and who used his younger self as the basis of his cover identity. 

Carmichael looked at her for a long moment, clearly working his way through his answer. She liked that he took her seriously. Thought over her questions and his answers before saying them. 

“Because . . . because it was hard enough, being a nerdy kid and realizing I had to grow out of it. Or maybe I didn’t. Maybe I could have stayed how I was. But I was thousands of miles away from my sister and my best friend, surrounded by people who made fun of me. There was no one I could be friends with, no one who liked the same stuff I did. And I wanted to be a part of my school. I wanted to show I was worth it--that I was worth the big fancy scholarship that thousands of other poor kids wanted but that I got.” Carmichael paused for a moment, then resumed his narration, his voice even and matter-of-fact. “I wanted to show I belonged. So . . . so I just started hiding what I really loved. For a while, I kept reading comics under my covers at night, sneaking into town to see movies by myself, but eventually I just stopped.” 

He looked at her, his shoulders hunched a little as he leaned forward. “I graduated at the top of my class. Went to Harvard and got recruited by the time I was a junior. I balanced finishing my bachelor’s magna cum laude with spy training. And by the time I was twenty-one . . . I was Charles Carmichael.” 

With each word, Sarah felt the impact of what he was telling her. Felt like that tiny voice inside her was repeating each word, because his story reminded her so much of what had happened to her. The specifics weren’t the same, but the emotions . . . they were identical. 

Over the years, she had gotten very good at hiding herself. So good that she was only now figuring out who she really was. It seemed like Carmichael was just beginning to realize that he had hidden his true self away. 

“So how would it be a blessing in disguise, not remembering the last year?” Sarah asked, feeling a bit lost. Feeling out of her depths with this man.

For a moment, he didn’t look at her. She almost repeated her question, in case he hadn’t heard her. But then, he slowly raised his eyes to hers. And the expression in them nearly made her gasp. Because his eyes were full of doubt and worry and longing, and it was so real and honest that she felt like her confusion was just drifting away. Because she felt like she knew him now. 

But his answer still shocked her. 

“Because it was hard enough living through that once. Learning how to become someone else. If I had to do it again now . . .” He ran a hand over his face and shifted in his seat. “It’s better that I’m Charles Carmichael again. No distractions, no memories getting in the way.” 

Sarah blinked. She knew he wasn’t looking for sympathy or pity. That he believed what he was saying. 

Yet somehow, she knew that he didn’t want to believe that. That he was unhappy being right back where he started, with only a missing year to show for it. 

Could he . . . could he want to be Chuck Bartowski again? Or was it something much simpler: he was Chuck Bartowski and just didn’t realize it.

The ringing of his cell phone didn’t even distract her from her whirling thoughts. Because it was like all the pieces were falling into place. Ellie’s desire to see her brother with Sarah, whether he was Chuck or Charles. Casey’s line about Carmichael having a nerd past. The glimmers of Carmichael that came through in Chuck. The way Carmichael talked about the younger version of himself. How he was dressing now, how he seemed softer and less closed-off. 

Charles Carmichael was Chuck Bartowski and Chuck Bartowski was Charles Carmichael. They weren’t two different men in one body, they weren’t one personality that developed into another. They were two sides of the same coin. She’d gotten to see each side of him, the Chuck side and the Carmichael side. But neither of them was enough on his own. And he knew it. But he didn’t know how to send the coin into the air, flipping it until the coin spun so fast that you didn’t know which side was which--you just saw the coin. The whole man, the integrated personality that had the best of both worlds. 

Maybe it was a stupid metaphor. Maybe this wasn’t what was going on at all. But it just made too much sense to her for it not to be true. Because that tiny voice inside her was saying yes again.

She was right about this. After being wrong for so long in her insistence that they were two different people, she knew she finally got it.

“Damn it.” 

His soft curse made her start. “What?” 

Carmichael looked at her and Sarah saw that a veil had fallen over his eyes. She couldn’t read him as easily as before, but she could see definite annoyance. “We’ve got movement on a Ring cell we’ve been watching. So that means no dessert.” He gave her a small smile, but he was clearly in special agent mode. And she bet it was partly because of what they had talked about tonight. 

“Of course,” she said, reaching into her bag for her wallet as he opened up the leather folder with their bill. “How much do I owe?” 

“I’ve got it,” he said, setting down some cash and standing up. “I’ll drop you off at your hotel.” 

If he had been acting like this in order to end their night, she would have called him on it. But since it was because of work, she just nodded and slid out of the booth, walking with him as he strode out of the restaurant. 

Besides, this would give her time to think. Time to figure out just how she could get through to him. She glanced at him as they walked, taking in the set of his jaw and his hands buried in the pockets of his jacket. 

Because she was pretty sure she knew what she was going to do once her final report was written.

End, Chapter 17


	18. Chapter 18

You would think that interior designers would make ceilings more interesting. Give you something to look at when it was the middle of the night and you couldn’t sleep because your mind was too full of thoughts. 

Sarah huffed out a breath as she turned the covers down, folding her arms over her stomach. It was late on Sunday night and she should really try to get some sleep. Because she would be going back to work tomorrow and she wasn’t sure what she was going to find when she walked into the team’s base. 

On Saturday morning, after a night of tossing and turning, she had called in and found out that the mission had gone badly. The details were fuzzy, but apparently something had gone wrong and the team had lost track of the Ring cell they had been watching. Josie--the petite agent with the skill for field-stripping rifles--said that Carmichael had actually told everyone to not come in until Monday morning. Which was a rather unexpected tack to take in the circumstances, but it was Carmichael. When it came to the job, she was learning to expect anything from him. 

But she had to wonder just what had happened on the mission . . . and if their dinner conversation had played a part in the mission’s apparent failure. 

It was just one more thing for her to think about, in the midst of everything else she had learned on Friday night. And even after nearly two days to come to grips with it all, she still wasn’t sure what she thought about her epiphany. 

With a snort, Sarah pushed herself up into a sitting position and ran her hands through her hair. Epiphany was a pretty dramatic word to use . . . but it felt right for the situation. For realizing just how big of a fool she had been. 

Ever since the start of Operation Bartowski, she had insisted that Chuck and Carmichael weren’t the same. They had different interests (although reclaiming his childhood TRON poster made it seem that Carmichael liked sci-fi like Chuck did), different attitudes (although Chuck’s ‘take the high road’ approach fit with Carmichael’s use of tranq guns) and different skillsets (a little digging had revealed that Carmichael had served on a cyberterrorism task force early in his career and had been recognized for his tech skills).

In short, she hadn’t known what she was talking about. And the fact that so many other people had seen what she hadn’t--had known that Charles Carmichael wasn’t so different from Chuck Bartowski--made her feel like the most stubborn idiot on the planet. 

Why had she been so stubborn, though? Why had she refused to listen to Ellie and Casey and Carina? All of them had spotted the similarities, but when they had told her about them, she wouldn’t listen. Flat-out refused to see it, in fact. And being wilfully blind like that wasn’t a flaw she thought she possessed. 

All she could think was that it had to be about protecting herself. Finding a way to deal with the upheaval from her first mission with Carmichael. Working with him--and then sleeping with him--had definitely unnerved her in ways she hadn’t even realized. So when Operation Bartowski came along . . . she had to see Chuck as someone different from Carmichael. Even with the fact that Chuck didn’t have access to Carmichael’s memories, didn’t know of his very existence, she needed to put up that barrier, make them into two different men. For her own sake.

She shuddered as she thought about how bad Operation Bartowski might have been if she hadn’t done that. Because her year with Chuck had been full of emotional drama and complications galore. If she had been searching for signs of Carmichael or pining for him instead of trying to avoid thinking about him, she could have given Chuck even more signals than she unconsciously had. She didn’t know how the whole situation hadn’t completely blown up in their faces. Because what if Chuck hadn’t been wise enough to realize that friendship was all there could be between them? Or if she had weakened and given in to the urge to sleep with him? Having to carry around those memories now--and facing the dilemma of whether to tell Carmichael or not--would destroy her. 

No, it had been for the best, as difficult and challenging as the situation she found herself in when it came to Chuck. Because it meant that now . . . there wasn’t anything that posed a major problem for her interactions with Carmichael. 

Whatever they might be. 

Taking a deep breath, Sarah slid back under the covers, curling up in a ball. It remained to be seen what the future held when it came to Carmichael. That question was one she had skirted all weekend, too focused on untangling how she felt about her past mistakes. And until she saw him tomorrow and got a feel for how things stood between them now, she wasn’t sure if she could answer it. 

And right now, Sarah felt like this coming week would make the difference. Let her get a better feel for what Carmichael was going through and determine how to take the next step. Because . . . there was something there. She didn’t know what it was, but she wanted to figure it out. Maybe she could even get to the point where she could call him Charles without it feeling very weird. 

Sarah couldn’t help a small smile as she considered that, yawning quietly as sleep finally started slipping over her. 

Tomorrow was going to be an interesting day.

XXX

When Sarah walked into the base the next morning, holding a grande coffee in her hand, the tension in the air was unmistakable. The other agents were scurrying around as quietly as possible, but they were all nervous and on edge. 

As she passed Lewis’s desk, the blond agent muttered, “Watch out for the boss--he’s on the warpath.” 

Sarah paused and looked at the young man. “What do you mean?”

He shifted in his chair, as if he had suddenly remembered who she was, then shrugged. “Agent Carmichael was here all weekend trying to fix what happened on Friday night, and now he’s full of ideas about what we should do next. He called everyone last night and told us to report here at six for calisthenics, which only just finished, before the mission post-mortem.” Lewis looked a bit disgusted as he adjusted his glasses. 

“Extra physical conditioning never hurt anyone,” she said coolly, suddenly determined to take the young snot down a peg. She turned on her heel and continued to her desk, trying not to let show on her face what she was thinking.

Carmichael had called everyone--everyone except her. Admittedly, she wasn’t part of the team. She was just here to observe him. But she would be lying if that fact didn’t sting. She thought he . . . 

That wasn’t important. She still didn’t know exactly what happened on Friday night, at least not in Carmichael’s opinion. That seemed like the first order of business: talking with him. 

But she felt a rare kind of fear as she looked over towards his office door. For some reason, her body quailed at the thought of crossing the twenty yards between her desk and his office, knocking on his door and asking to talk to him. Because she didn’t know how he felt about what happened between them on Friday night--and she still wasn’t completely sure of her own feelings about their dinner date. 

God, she was acting like a teenager. Actually, she hadn’t acted like this even as an actual adolescent. What was it about Charles Carmichael that turned her into some hesitant, unsure girl, instead of the woman she really was? As soon as she thought that, that little voice inside her started to pipe up, but Sarah did her best to ignore it as she rose to her feet. 

She would get nowhere if she went back to trying to ignore him. Best to just confront the lion in his den. 

Her mental image of Carmichael as a lion was silly enough to distract her while she walked up to his office. Knocking on his door, she waited for him to answer. And when he pulled open the door, suddenly her mental picture didn’t seem so silly. 

Because it certainly appeared that Charles Carmichael had gone a little wild. 

It looked like he was still wearing the same jeans and sneakers from Friday night. Instead of his tasteful black button-down, though, he was wearing a rumpled blue t-shirt with what looked like a small coffee stain in the middle of his chest, right over the printed design of a red blobby robot. He had two days’ worth of scruff darkening his jawline and his hair was a mess, bearing the marks of his hands running through his curls dozens of times. His skin was pale and his eyes were a bit dazed. 

And . . . and for some strange reason, she liked seeing him like this. It felt real Intimate. As if she was seeing some secret side of him, a part of himself that he kept hidden away. 

“Agent Walker.” He swept his eyes over her, from the top of her freshly-washed hair to the tips of her very high heels. Then he lifted his gaze to meet hers and grinned a little. “Just how crazy do you think I am right now?” 

“Off the charts,” she said without thinking. She bit her lip as he snickered quietly.

“Fair enough,” he said, going over to his desk. “What’s up?” 

Stepping into his office, she closed the door behind her and took a seat, wondering at his behavior. “I wanted to find out what happened on Friday. With the mission? I heard it didn’t go so well.” 

Like a switch getting flipped, some of the manic energy flowed out of Carmichael. He nodded. “Yeah . . . it was a mess. When we went into the building, I missed the clear signs that some of the Ring cell were still in there, ready to face us.”

“Did you really miss them or are you just saying that?” Sarah asked. 

“Oh, no, I screwed up,” he said emphatically, his lips twisting. “The whole team’s in agreement on that.” 

Hmmmm. Sarah made a mental note to talk to a few of the agents to find out their view on the mission. It wouldn’t surprise her if Carmichael was exaggerating again, but based on Lewis’s reaction, she wasn’t so sure. 

“So what happens now?” she asked, crossing her legs as she leaned back in her chair. 

Carmichael ran a hand through his hair. “We’re trying to figure out where the cell’s members are hiding. We have a lead on two of them and we hope they might lead us to other cells. So for now, it’s watch and wait.” 

“Every spy’s favorite words,” Sarah said wryly but sympathetically. 

“Yeah,” he said, taking a breath. “I . . . I screwed up and I don’t know how to say that in my report. Not with what we talked about last week.” 

Sarah looked at him for a long moment, noticing how he was careful not to look directly at her. Possibly because he was embarrassed to be asking for help. He was asking her for help. And damn if it didn’t make her feel all fluttery inside to have him reaching out to her like this. 

“Since the mission’s not complete, there’s no need to report in just yet,” Sarah said. “And . . . you know, reports go missing all the time. If anyone asks, you can swear up and down you sent word up the chain. Who’s going to take the time to try and hunt for one report, in all the paperwork we generate?” 

He looked back at her, then smiled a little. “The Star Trek approach. I like it.” 

A pop culture reference? She didn’t really understand what he was saying, but she was more confused by the fact that he was making such a downright nerdy reference. Was Carmichael trying to be a bit more like his younger self, his words on Friday to the contrary? Trying to be more like Chuck? 

It was something to think about. Something to watch for. But for now, she just wrinkled her nose and asked, “The Star Trek approach?” 

“Basically, it boils down to it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” Carmichael said, standing up. “Thanks for reminding me about that.” 

“You’re welcome,” Sarah said, getting up from her chair. “Although I don’t think I deserve thanks.” 

Carmichael shrugged. “You’ve got them anyway. Sorry to chase you out, but I just realized I should probably go home to shower and change. And shave.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw, looking sheepish. “Until you came in, I forgot how far gone I was.” 

“You’re not so bad,” she said, trying to reassure him. But somehow, her words didn’t come out as she intended. She meant to sound breezy and unaffected, but there seemed to be an extra meaning to her words. And she could tell that Carmichael sensed it, too. 

“Well . . . still, I could use some fresh air,” he said. “I’ve been here all weekend, working on tracing this Ring cell. I need a few hours out of here to clear my head.” He paused and looked at her. “And you can hold down the fort here, in case the team needs anything.” 

She felt her stomach drop at his words. Because this wasn’t just because she was the most experienced agent if he wasn’t available. It was . . . it was like he was trusting her with something very important to himself. And that made her wonder if she wasn’t the only one considering what existed between them. 

Licking her lips, Sarah nodded. “Of course. Take all the time you need.” 

“I thought you said I wasn’t that bad,” Carmichael said, giving her a lopsided smirk. 

God, he kept her guessing. Going from a hesitation that almost read as shyness to a confidence that was almost arrogance: how did he do that? And why did she like it so much?

“Maybe I was just being nice,” she said, turning and opening the door of his office. He followed her out, his stride loose and relaxed.

“No one’s that nice, Walker,” he said with a grin. He looked around at the team and raised his voice. “I’ll be back in two hours, guys. And the guy this morning, the one that looked like me and was a major jerk, will be replaced with good old Agent Carmichael.” 

There was smiles all around from the rest of the team and even a few scattered claps. Carmichael rolled his eyes. “Agent Walker is a resource if you need one.” He looked at her, gave her a small grin, and strolled out of the base. 

The eyes of the team members rested on Sarah and she felt her chin lift. She didn’t want to give the impression she was supplanting Carmichael--there was no way she could replace him. So she just went over to her desk and got back to work. 

But while she looked over reports, her mind was starting to work on a much more important riddle: just what was she going to do about Charles Carmichael?

XXX

Revelations didn’t normally come to Sarah over lo mein. 

On Friday morning, Carmichael had announced he was covering lunch for everyone, in recognition of the team’s hard work. Just before noon, bags of Chinese food were brought down by the agent covering the reception desk and the team dug in, pushing aside the files and folders on the conference table and turning it into a large dining table. 

Carmichael had sat at one end, eating orange chicken from the carton with his chopsticks and talking with all the team members. Sarah had picked a seat at the other end of the table, wanting to stay out of the way and observe--well, honestly, to watch him. 

Ever since Monday, she had been watching him. Not because she was evaluating him for Graham. She had finished her report on Wednesday afternoon. No, she was watching him because she wanted to know how she felt about him.

Even before she met him, she had admired his success. Once she got the chance to work with him, she had been awed by the way his mind worked, by how good a spy he was. And when she had discovered he had volunteered for Operation Bartowski, she was moved by his sacrifice. 

And those feelings--admiration, awe, respect--they were all still there. But that wasn’t all she felt when she looked at him. No, she had definitely gained a deeper appreciation for him as she had spent more time with him.

His sense of humor was sharp but engaging. He listened and paid attention to everyone, regardless of who the person was. He made an effort to draw out the people he encountered. He owned up to his flaws, like with the failed Ring mission. And that was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to his good qualities. 

It seemed like his experiences as Chuck Bartowski, even though he didn’t remember them, were having an impact on him. He was letting down some of his walls, showing that he was more than just a spy. And as a result, he seemed freer than he had been on that first mission. Like he had been carrying the weight of all the expectations of him on his shoulders and he had finally dropped them. She had thought he acted like he didn’t care what people thought of him before--now she realized he really didn’t care. There was no acting involved. 

Of course, there were moments when he went cold and hard, when he became Special Agent Carmichael’s evil twin. Moments when he second-guessed himself, when he went with the identity of super-spy he had created for himself instead of being the kind of guy that he used to be. 

Sighing softly, Sarah swirled some noodles around her chopsticks and told herself to stop stalling. That’s what all this thinking was: a way to keep her mind from focusing on the most important feeling she had experienced this week. Attraction. 

When they had first met, she had felt a spark between herself and Carmichael. He was a handsome man and a spy she had long admired. But now, that attraction and admiration was a lot . . . hotter. 

_Face facts_ , that little voice inside her said. _You want him_. 

Jamming some noodles in her mouth, Sarah did everything she could not to look at Carmichael. Because if she made eye contact with him, she was sure everything she was thinking and feeling was written all over her face. With the way her cheeks felt warm and she kept wanting to smile . . . 

Charles Carmichael turned her on. Not just physically, although that certainly was an important consideration, she thought as she lowered her head to hide her flush. Her shower fantasy of him when she had first arrived in California should have tipped her off, but when that had happened, she had done what she had always done: shoved aside the feelings and refused to deal with them. But she wasn’t able to do that anymore. Not with the heat and tension that had been slowly building inside her ever since Friday. Or was it earlier than that? It probably dated to before that fantasy. Maybe all the way back to when she first met him. 

All she knew was that her body responded to his. And it was one thing if it was just about a physical attraction. But adding in how she felt smarter and funnier and stronger and just more Sarah when she was with him--

It was a little like how she had felt with Chuck: that feeling of strength and courage and confidence. Yet there was a new dimension to that feeling when it came to Carmichael. A feeling that maybe with him, she didn’t have to be strong all the time. She wasn’t sure, but . . . but she thought that with him, she could be vulnerable. Because he was strong enough to accept all of her. Maybe. 

Relationships between agents were viewed with distrust and skepticism. No one ever seemed to think anything real could happen between intelligence operatives. Given her track record and experiences, Sarah would have agreed with the doubters. But that was before now. Before she realized that she could have something with Car--with Charles. At the very least, she wanted to find out if he was interested, if that one time in the Dominican Republic could be about more than just physical heat. Especially with how good that one time had been: intimate, penetrating, and just so damn hot that she had dreamed about it, for the hundredth time, just last night. 

If it was possible that there could be more than just sex between them--that they could have an actual relationship--she wanted to know. And she was tired of waiting to find out. 

Taking a deep breath, Sarah glanced down the conference table as lunch broke up and the members of the team drifted back to work. Charles was already walking towards the door of his office. She set down her half-full carton of noodles and got up, her heels clacking as she hurried to catch up with him. 

“Carmichael?” 

He turned around, in the middle of breaking open a fortune cookie. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” she said, looking around quickly and then lowering her voice. “Are you busy tonight?” 

His fingers stilled and he locked his eyes on her. “No,” he said slowly. 

“I’d like to buy you dinner,” she said, trying to stay calm and not shiver from the intensity of his gaze. “After all, you picked up the tab last Friday.”

She could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. Was he nervous? If he was, that was the only indication, because his voice was smooth as he answered. “I never turn down the chance for a meal with good company.” 

“Then I hope I’ll meet your standards for good company,” she said with a definite flirtatious note in her voice. Something about making a decision--about choosing to see where this might go--made her feel flirty. At ease with him, even with the crackle of attraction sparking through her. 

For once, Charles looked thrown. Like he wasn’t sure what to say. She smiled at him. “Meet me at my hotel at seven? I’ll drive.” 

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay. Great.” 

Sarah couldn’t help smiling wider at him. “See you later.” 

As she walked away, she could almost feel his eyes on her back. She certainly had given him signals that he hadn’t expected. To be honest, she hadn’t expected to act that way, either. But it felt good. So much of her life was spent holding back, concealing what she thought and felt. It wasn’t just the nature of her job--it was the kind of person she was. But after holding herself in for so long, letting down her guard a little for Charles Carmichael felt good.

She just hoped it wouldn’t all blow up in her face. 

XXX

Whatever calm she had this afternoon had dissipated by the evening. As soon as she left for her hotel, the enormity of what she was doing started to hit her hard. 

This was crazy. What was she thinking, trying to start something with Charles Carmichael? She had never had a real relationship with anyone and now she was going to try with someone like him? A man who was clearly going through some very big changes in his life? 

Was she just setting herself up for failure? Making a move on someone who wasn’t ready, so if it didn’t work out she could blame him instead of herself for what happened? 

And that was if he showed interest in her, if he wanted to see what might happen if they tried dating. What if he rejected her? What if he admitted it wasn’t the right time to get involved with anyone--or even worse, what if he wasn’t interested in her? If their time in the Dominican Republic had shown him that one night was all he wanted with her, he would turn her down and all this soul-searching would have been for nothing. 

Taking a deep breath, Sarah closed her eyes and tried to calm down. She didn’t want to freak out like this. But it was a little bit scary to consider all the ways she would be crushed by the end of the night. Since she was finally feeling like she had her life on course, like she was starting to figure out how to balance being a spy and being Sarah, rejection and heartache could derail all her hard work. She didn’t want that to happen. 

But if she didn’t at least try with Charles, didn’t take the chance that they could have something, she would never know. She hadn’t let herself try with Chuck because she knew the circumstances wouldn’t give them a fair chance. But the deck wasn’t stacked against her like that with Charles. So she had to try. 

At least she looked good tonight. She had pulled out all the stops, given the limited wardrobe that she had brought with her to California. A pair of slim-fitting black pants was an easy choice, along with her favorite and only pair of Christian Louboutin heels. But what to wear on top? After flicking through all her choices, she had finally settled on a red silk and linen blouse with cap sleeves. She had curled her hair and applied her makeup carefully, wanting to up her game a little. Wanting it to be clear that this was a date. 

Sarah took another look at herself in the mirror before glancing at her watch. It was a minute to seven, and Charles should be here any--

A quiet knock against her door made her smile. And there he was. 

Another quick mirror check and then she crossed to the door, picking up her leather jacket and purse as she went. She paused long enough to take a deep breath, then she pulled the door open. 

It was cliched and trite, but when she saw him, she felt her heart pick up its pace. Because he looked a bit shy, because he looked good, because she was happy to see him. 

“Hey, Sarah,” he said, straightening up a little from his spot leaning against the door jamb. “You look great.” 

“Thank you,” she said, stepping out of her room and glancing him over. “So do you.” 

Instead of the more dressed-down look he had donned last Friday, tonight he was wearing dark suit trousers, a charcoal gray button-down, and a red tie. But his tie was loosely knotted and his sleeves were rolled up, revealing his forearms. It was a good look for him, especially when combined with his barely-tamed curls. Her fingers itched to run through them. 

Swallowing, she did her best to give him a small smile. “I wanted to take you to my favorite place in LA. Up for sushi, Charles?” 

There was the slightest of double-takes when she called him by his first name, but he nodded and grinned. “Sure.”

“Then let’s go,” she said, lifting her jacket to slide it on. To her surprise, he immediately reached out and helped her, his fingers lightly brushing against the back of her neck as he did so. 

She looked up at him. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly, his voice a bit deeper than normal. He cleared his throat and took a small step back from her. “So where are we going?”

“It’s a place I found during Operation Bartowski. Nice and quiet. I went there a lot,” Sarah said, starting to walk towards the elevator. “I liked having someplace where I could go by myself and get away from work for a little while.” 

That was true. With all the cover dates she had taken with Chuck, she had never told him about this restaurant. Partly because Chuck hadn’t been a big sushi fan--he liked it once in a while, unlike Sarah who could eat sushi every day--but also . . . she had wanted to be selfish and have a place that was hers and hers alone. 

If Charles realized just what she was saying, he didn’t let on. “It sounds great,” he said. “I haven’t been to Japan enough to experience the real deal. But I know you have, so I put myself in the hands of an expert.” 

Sarah couldn’t help giving him a little smirk, if only to cover up her surprise. He must have a pretty high access level to know about her missions in Japan. Could he have been reading up on her, studying her? When had he done so? Was it back when he was preparing for Operation Bartowski? Or was it more recently?

“I’m good company and an expert? Be careful or my ego is going to make me impossible to deal with,” Sarah said, drawing her keys out of her purse as they stepped off the elevator and into the lobby. 

The spacious area was filled with the hum of conversation and the clatter of shoes on the travertine tiles, so Sarah wasn’t quite sure what Charles said under his breath. But it sounded a lot like “Not possible.” 

And that made her put the smallest of sways into her hips as she walked towards the valet to retrieve her car. Because the signals seemed to be getting through to him.

XXX

“So Graham called me this morning.” 

His words made Sarah pause as she reached for a piece of toro from her plate of nigiri. “Did he now?” she asked, looking at Charles. “What did he have to say?”

“It was interesting,” Charles said, idly picking at his cucumber roll with his chopsticks. “He said he was very pleased to have received your report. And that everything was fine with me and the team.” 

“I didn’t know the full and honest truth could be so interesting,” she said, popping the toro into her mouth and chewing slowly as she held his gaze. 

With mild amusement, he smiled at her. “Perhaps ‘surprising’ is the better word. Because someone was sneaky and didn’t tell she was sending off her final report.” 

Sarah laid down her chopsticks. “I wanted to keep you from worrying. If you knew I had sent it off, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t be on tenterhooks, at least a little bit.”

“Nope, you’re right,” he said. He looked at her and shook his head. “Very observant, Agent Walker.” 

“Thank you, Agent Carmichael,” she said primly, even as she grinned at him over the rim of her sake glass. “How do you like your sushi?”

He chuckled softly and lifted up the cucumber roll he had been playing with, his elegant fingers working the chopsticks and preventing the sushi from falling apart all over him. Graceful bastard, Sarah thought to herself in amusement.

“It’s amazing,” he said after chewing and swallowing. “Nothing but the best for you, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Sarah said. “You know how it is with our jobs. But when I have the chance to splurge, I like to take it if I can.” 

For a long moment, his eyes locked on hers. She wondered if he thought there was a hidden meaning to her words. If she saw having dinner with him as a momentary and rare indulgence. 

That was so far from the truth. At least, she hoped it would be so. 

“What are you going to do now, then?” he asked quietly. “Since you’ve sent in your report and everything . . .” 

It was probably too soon in the night to be completely honest with him on a question like that. Because saying “It all depends on you” was not something she wanted to just throw out there. She wanted to build up to the declaration of her feelings, at least a little. 

So instead, she shrugged one shoulder and picked up another piece of toro. “I don’t know. Probably go back to Washington, unless Graham’s got something for me. Ever since Operation Bartowski, I’ve been at loose ends a bit. Just taking assignments as they come.” 

“You were in Miami a lot. I bet the rest of the C.A.T. Squad appreciated having you there, not to mention your skills available,” he said, dragging the tips of his chopsticks through the small dish of soy sauce. “Did anyone ever point out that the team’s name is redundant?”

“Only all four of us,” Sarah said with a laugh, wrinkling her nose. “But no one listened to us. You know how it is.” 

Charles grinned widely. “Why do you think my team doesn’t have a name? Team names are always a little bit lame, as you know from personal experience.” 

She laughed a bit harder and shook her head. “Smart. Very smart, Charles.” 

It was getting easier to call him Charles. But she couldn’t help thinking that the name didn’t quite fit him. Like a young man trying on his father’s suit when he was just a bit too small to fill it out properly.

“What about you?” she asked, taking another sip of sake. 

“What about me?” he replied with a question of his own, placing down his chopsticks to shell some edamame and pop them into his mouth. 

“You’ve got the Ring on the ropes. What are you going to do once that mission is over?”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t say they’re on the ropes. And it’s not just me.”

“But what are you going to do once the Ring is gone?” She wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. Because she wanted to know what he saw when it came to his future.

Those long fingers of his began playing with the empty edamame pods. “Does it really matter?”

Sarah leaned back in her chair. He wasn’t looking at her. His voice was chilly with disinterest and his shoulders seemed to have broadened with how straight he was holding them. 

This was Special Agent Carmichael. He was closing down and doing everything he could to push her away. To hold her at arm’s length. 

Had she gotten too close? Hit on some sore spot she wasn’t aware of? She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t want him to do this. And she had to find a way to get him to drop this act so she could show him that she wanted to be part of his future. For as long as he was interested in having her there. 

The way he was reacting gave her confidence, strangely enough. More than if he had flirted back or acted flustered. Because by going into his Agent Carmichael mode, it meant . . . it meant that he was scared. Nervous. He didn’t know how to act and so he was falling back on a way to protect himself. It was up to her to make him see that he didn’t need to do that. 

“It matters,” she said quietly. She reached out, taking a few edamame pods from the bowl between them, if only to have something to do with her hands. “But I suppose there’s a lot that needs to happen before you can think about that.” 

Charles lifted his eyes to hers. “Exactly. And even when the Ring is eliminated, I won’t be going back to my old methods. Not now.”

That was something she hadn’t expected to hear. “Do you like having a team, then? Instead of working with a different partner on every mission?” she asked, holding his gaze. Curious to hear his answer. Wondering if this line of questioning would make him tighten up more or relax him into the new man he was becoming. 

“Yes, for the most part. It’s not what I expected,” he said slowly. “I thought . . .” 

When he let his voice trail off, Sarah bit her lower lip. She didn’t want to interrupt him. And after a moment, he resumed speaking. 

“I didn’t realize what being in charge meant. How it’d make me change how I work. Because the other agents are relying on me to lead them. Before this, I could count on one hand the number of agents I had truly liked working with. And now I have all these operatives and I like working with each of them. But it’s not quite the same as before, working with the team compared to working with someone like you.” 

His voice was quiet and a bit halting. Like he was figuring this out as he spoke, a state he didn’t much enjoy. But she could see the slightest softening in his shoulders. 

“Someone like me?” she asked, trying to strike a balance between flirting and seriousness. 

“Fishing for compliments, Sarah?” he asked, cracking a small smile. 

And the sight of that smile made her hopes rise. That, and the fact that he was still calling her Sarah instead of reverting back to her last name. “Maybe,” she responded, working hard not to sound too teasing. Wanting to keep this conversation going. 

He huffed out a strained chuckle. “You remember how it was. We clicked pretty well.” Then his face went pale as his ears reddened slightly and he looked away. 

That reaction was so classic Chuck that Sarah very nearly laughed. No, actually, she felt a giggle trying to work its way out. Because the image of Charles Carmichael blushing was so damn adorable, not to mention another sign that she was right. Chuck was Carmichael and Carmichael was Chuck, and she wanted him. Wanted both sides of him. 

“Yes, we did,” Sarah said, smiling at him. “It’s too bad we haven’t had more chances to work together.” 

“But it’d be different now,” Charles said. “I mean, you’ve changed a lot since that first mission.” 

“Have I?” She was definitely eager to hear his answer. 

Charles leaned back, his eyes a warm amber-brown. “Yes,” he said. “You’re . . . You’re easier to read.” 

Sarah felt a flutter in her stomach. Easier to read? Did that mean he knew what she wanted from him? He was intelligent and perceptive--he could figure out people in a snap. But if he had a sense of what she was after, why hadn’t he said anything? Was he just going to let her dangle in the wind? 

“So no mystery anymore, huh?” she asked with a smile, hoping her tone was as joking as she wanted it to be. 

A soft snort erupted from him. “Not exactly. You’ve just been downgraded from a conundrum to an enigma.” 

Laughing from relief, Sarah couldn’t help the way her smile widened. “Conundrum to enigma? Really?”

“Really,” he said, his nose crinkling a little as he smiled back at her. “You are still very hard to read.” 

“Good,” she said, sipping her sake. “I want to keep some of my mystery.” But only a little, she thought to herself. 

“Oh, no, you’re good,” he said, using his chopsticks to take the last piece of his cucumber roll. 

As she watched him chew, Sarah knew he had relaxed. That he wasn’t Agent Carmichael anymore, that he had resumed his new personality that combined the best of Chuck and Carmichael. And while part of her wanted to just keep going with this fun, natural conversation . . . she wanted him to know how she felt. 

“Charles . . .” she said, resting her forearms on the table and leaning forward on them. “I really have changed since we met, haven’t I?” 

He tilted his head to the side, fully considering her question. And she wanted to kiss him for always taking her so seriously. 

“Yes . . .” he said slowly. “You’ve changed since we met, and they’ve been good changes. Very good changes. I mean, you were already special, but now . . .” 

Oh, God. She felt her cheeks going pink, felt her head swim a little at his compliments. Because they were sweet and sincere and maybe she was overreacting from such simple statements, but having him call her special . . . 

Sarah wanted him to know that she thought he was special. And she was ready to tell him that. 

“Thank you,” she said, hoping her feelings came through in her voice. “You’ve changed, too.” 

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, wide and full of surprise. “I have? How?” 

What must he have gone through in the last few months? Losing a year of his life and unsure of what had happened to him during that time, having a different perspective and feeling his personality shift closer to a younger version of himself and not understanding why? She wanted him to know that those changes were good. That they could lead to something amazing. 

Smiling at him softly, she leaned forward and pitched her voice low enough that he had to move a bit closer to her. “I think you know.” 

He blinked, his long eyelashes--how had she never noticed just how long and lush his eyelashes were?--sweeping up and down. “Um . . . maybe. I--I guess this whole experience has made an impact on me.” 

This was it. There was almost the sense of the universe holding its breath, waiting for what was going to happen. Waiting to see how Charles took what she had to say. 

Reaching out, she rested her hand by his on the table. “Charles, you’re changing. You’re more than just an agent now and that makes you more real. More interesting. More special.” She paused, watching a light enter his eyes. It was something she liked to see. But there was still more to say. 

“I spent a year working with Chuck Bartowski,” Sarah said softly. “He was a nice guy. Actually, a really great guy. I liked him.” 

At the first mention of Chuck, she could see Charles stiffen slightly. She took a deep breath, knowing she couldn’t let her courage fail her now. 

“But the man you’re becoming--the one that I think you’re a little scared to become--would be an even greater man.” 

It was tempting to hold her breath as she waited for his reaction. But as the silence stretched out, as Charles kept staring at her, Sarah was glad she hadn’t. Because she would need all the breath she could get, for when she needed to run out of here. 

Because he looked completely shocked. Like he was so confused by her words that a dumbstruck gaze was all he could manage. 

For perhaps the first time in her life, Sarah found herself babbling. “You’re still so intelligent and observant and a genius, really. And you were like that when we worked together in the Dominican Republic, but there was something remote and maybe even a little unhappy about you, like you thought you had to hold yourself back and not be who you really are. But now, you’re not like that. You’re warm and funny and you make pop culture references but you still use famous quotes and do amazing spy work, and it’s like your old self--the young man that you buried away when you went to school--he didn’t disappear, not really. He was always there underneath, and now you’re letting him out, and it just makes you more attractive and interesting. But it’s also so different and you don’t understand what’s happening--and, God, please just say something, Charles.” 

By the time she stopped, she was practically panting. She wasn’t sure if she had ever spoken at such length in what seemed like one breath. And she wasn’t sure if she had been clear enough, if he realized why she was telling him this, if he knew why she was putting herself on the line. But that would come later, as soon as he said something. Gave her some sign of what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Because there was still confusion in his eyes, but it had been joined by a flickering glimmer of some emotion. Something she thought might be hope. 

But there was also doubt there. She could see it in his eyes, in the wrinkling of his forehead and the pursing of his lips. “Sarah . . . what are you saying, that somehow I picked up some idea of what happened to me during Operation Bartowski and I want to be more like Chuck?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. The doctors and scientists would say no. That it isn’t possible. But I don’t agree with them, because I saw flashes of you, the trained spy, come through in Chuck. Why wouldn’t you have some elements of Chuck come through now after what happened? It’s not like you and Chuck are that different--or that you weren’t just like Chuck once. And I think you want to be like Chuck again in some ways, because . . . because maybe it all comes down to the idea of being happy. Are you really happy as Special Agent Charles Carmichael?” 

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sarah swallowed. Because happiness seemed like it might be at the root of all of this. The search for happiness, that struggle to find the feeling that could be oh-so-fleeting but oh-so-good. She didn’t think he used to be happy. But he seemed happier now, and if she could, she would do everything she could to make him happy. To make them both happy. 

“It--it’s not about happiness,” he said, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. “Or about changing or being more like Chuck or--” He stopped and swallowed. “Oh, who am I trying to kid?” 

Charles slowly lifted his head, looking at her. “I . . . I can’t seem to hold back the things I want to hide from you. I haven’t been able to do that from the moment we met.” 

Her heart was pounding and her mouth was suddenly very dry. For a moment, she remembered her last mission with Chuck, standing in the kitchen of that house in the suburbs and hearing him say how she couldn’t hide from him. But if that went both ways and Charles felt like he couldn’t hide from her . . . Sarah licked her lips. “What are you saying, Charles?” 

“Sarah,” he said, his name escaping from her lips on a sigh, “do you have any idea what it was like, meeting you and working with you? It was like being struck by lightning.” 

The waiter, with the worst timing ever, chose that moment to bring over their bill. Fumbling for her bag, Sarah yanked out her wallet and gave thanks she had enough cash to cover the bill and the tip, rather than having to wait for her credit card to be charged. And maybe the waiter’s timing wasn’t so bad, because it gave her a minute to deal with her whirling thoughts. To find a way to put her feelings into words. 

Because he felt the same way she did. And if she could just pay and get them out of this very public space, she just might be able to do more than only talk with him. 

It would appear certain instincts were in the driver’s seat now instead of her mind. Because once she had laid down the money, she locked eyes with Charles. “I’ve never felt anything like it, working with you. And . . . and then there’s what happened afterwards, in the hotel room.” 

She could see his face flush. “Me, too,” he said, his Adam’s apple visibly moving as he swallowed. “I pestered Graham for a solid two weeks, persuading him that you should be part of Operation Bartowski. I didn’t want you there just to protect me. I wanted you there because . . . I wanted you there. Even if I couldn’t remember you. And I’ve spent months feeling jealous of someone who is me, for having those months with you. But I just wanted to know you were there, because it didn’t take me long on that first mission to know that there was something special between us.”

“Is it just about the work, though?” Sarah asked, standing up so quickly that her chair wobbled on its legs. “Was that all, Charles?” 

Everything felt so mixed-up and muddled that she wasn’t sure she could say which way was up. This was what he did to her, this was why relationships between agents were so dangerous: they made you distracted. And a distracted spy was a dead spy. 

Her heels clicked against the tile floors as she hurried to the exit. She needed air, she needed a break, she needed--

Even with all her confusion, she knew that Charles was following her. But it wasn’t until they stepped out of the restaurant that he caught her arm and turned her to face him. She looked up at him for a second, getting a sense of wide, dark brown eyes and suddenly-pale skin and lips pressed into a thin line. 

“No,” he said, his voice sounding slightly choked. “That wasn’t it at all.” 

And with that, he brought his hands up to cup her face. Sarah could hear the voice in her head shouting “ _yes_!” and it was once again like they were the only two people in the world and his hands were so warm against her cheeks and he was going to kiss her, kiss her for the first time since just before Chuck was gone or from when they were in the Dominican Republic together--she wasn’t so sure anymore which one was their last kiss. 

But as he lowered his head and brought his lips against hers in a tender, deep, unbearably hot kiss, Sarah didn’t care. Because right now, she was kissing him back, wrapping her arms around his neck as he moved his hands down to her back, feeling like she could fly because he wanted this, too. 

Kissing Charles was so good. It always had been, whether he was Carmichael or Chuck. But now that he was close to being this new combined version of himself, it was even better. He held her tightly, his hands pressing against her lower back and keeping her close to him. His lips were soft and coaxing against hers, a gentle pressure as he explored her mouth. 

It was just a kiss. But Sarah knew it wasn’t just a kiss. No, it was much more than that. Because it was a beginning, too. So she closed her eyes and gave herself over to the kiss and to him. 

End, Chapter 18


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s the end of another fic, one that has been challenging and rewarding for me. I’m so thankful for all the readers who truly embraced this story, especially when it was hard to see where it was going. Special thanks are due to Steampunk . Chuckster, who’s been equal parts cheerleader and therapist while I was writing this story. Also thanks go to LiptonLee, for being such a great roommate and offering up a suggestion when I was first thinking of this story that greatly improved it.
> 
> Additional author’s notes at the end.

“Sarah . . .” 

The sound of her name on his lips, his voice hoarse and deep, made Sarah shiver. Opening her eyes, she gazed up at him. “Yeah?” 

“We’re giving everyone a show,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “Maybe we need to change locations?” He brushed his nose against hers, his hands gently gripping her waist. 

And that was a bad thing? She was having a hard time thinking because of how he looked, the way he was touching her, and the burning desire to keep kissing him. 

Giving her head a shake, Sarah took a small step back from him. The distance let her mind clear a little. “Yes,” she said, wrapping her fingers around his hand and tugging him along with her. 

Charles gave her a lazy smile as she led him towards her car. “In a hurry?” 

“You’re the one who wanted to find someplace more private,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Can you blame me?” he asked, squeezing her hand. “If we kept kissing, in another minute I wouldn’t be held accountable for my actions. Except to the LAPD.” 

She let out a soft laugh--well, it was really more of a giggle, which was not normal behavior for her. But she felt so loose and goofy and happy, even though she knew there was still plenty of talking they needed to do. 

Because there was the matter of their careers and how they were going to make this work. Not to mention figuring out what “this” was: would they be exclusive? Would they avoid working together while they were involved? What exactly did Charles see in her?

But for now, she wanted to have a nonverbal conversation with him. Somewhere that they wouldn’t get arrested for doing so. 

The real trick would be driving them to her hotel and getting to her room without becoming too distracted. She wasn’t sure if it would be possible to fight the pull he had over her, especially once they were both in her car. That spicy scent of his filled the interior and she could see his curls were rumpled, possibly from her hands, and he had begun stroking her forearm as soon as he had fastened his seatbelt. She never thought of the skin on the inside of her elbow as an erogenous zone, but it seemed that when he touched her, anything became an erogenous zone. 

Sarah started the car and pulled out into the evening traffic, doing everything she could to focus. When his hand began traveling the full length of her arm, stroking down from her shoulder and lingering over her skin when he reached her wrist, Sarah knew she had to say something. At the next red light, she looked over at him. 

“You keep doing that, we’re going to end up in a car accident.” Her voice, rather than having a teasing tone like she intended, sounded thin and breathless. It revealed just how affected she was by his touch. And normally she would be annoyed or embarrassed, but tonight . . . she wasn’t. 

His eyes locked on hers, their deep amber color going even darker. “We can’t have that,” he said, his voice soft. He slowly pulled his fingers away from her, clasping his hands in his lap like an overgrown choir boy. 

“No,” she said, gripping the steering wheel and feeling like an inexperienced girl again. Like she was on her first date and didn’t know what to do next. 

The rest of the drive back to her hotel was silent except for the sound of the engine and the cars around them. But Sarah could feel the tension coiling inside her. The feeling of embers being oh-so-slowly stoked, just waiting for the opportunity to flare up into a blaze of heat. 

She glanced over at Charles a few times, noting how he chewed a little on his lower lip--God, she wanted to do that to him now--and how he gripped his hands together--she wanted him to hold her that tightly. And with thoughts that like, she was right back to risking a car accident, so she made herself face forward and pay attention to the road. 

They were nearly there. 

XXX

The door of her room nearly slammed against the wall as they stumbled inside, a collection of arms and legs and lips. Somehow, Charles managed to catch the door before it impacted with the wall. 

“Nice one,” Sarah said, kissing along his jaw as she held on to his shoulders, standing on her tiptoes in order to savor the taste of his skin. 

“Don’t--don’t want to disturb anyone,” he muttered, using his grip on the door to shut it behind them. “At least not like that.” 

She couldn’t help a soft snicker as she pulled away to look up at him. “So what are you planning to do that would disturb everyone?” 

The arrogant, confident, thoroughly male smirk on his face made her knees weaken. But she wasn’t about to let him in on that. So instead, she leaned in and tried to kiss the smirk off his face. 

Closing her eyes, she focused on kissing him. On how he moved his lips and tongue against hers, on the tart sweetness of his mouth from dinner and his own natural flavor. It was intoxicating. She found one of her hands had started to twist his tie, pulling him down and closer to her. 

He let out a soft groan and lifted his head a little. “You’re killing me,” he said, sliding his hands into her hair. 

“Could you be more specific?” she asked, grinning at him as she felt his fingers stroke her scalp. 

“Death by beautiful woman . . . it’s a good way to go,” Charles said, his eyes dancing as he grinned back at her. 

Even as she felt her cheeks go pink and an embarrassed giggle try to escape her lips, Sarah felt the heat between them. She had never laughed during foreplay, let alone during sex. Jokes and giggles and laughter never seemed to have a place in the bedroom. Until now. 

And she liked that. 

Loosening her grip on his tie, Sarah began stroking her fingers up and down the piece of fabric. “And being driven crazy by some amazingly handsome man is pretty good, too.” 

Charles ducked his head, his ears going a dull red for a moment, before he slid his hands out of her hair and gently pushed her hands away from his tie. Sarah watched in confusion as he stepped back from her. He took a deep breath, looking nervous. “Sarah?”

Oh, shit. Please, no. She couldn’t have screwed this up with just one sentence, could she? She felt cold all over now that they weren’t pressed up against each other. What was going on? 

“Y-yes, Charles?” she asked, licking her lips briefly. And damn it, she could taste him and she didn’t know what she was going to do if he had changed his mind. If his cooler head was beginning to prevail. 

His eyes were hesitant and he was rubbing his hands against his trousers. “Could you--I mean, would it be too weird--I was wondering if you would mind calling me Chuck?”

Sarah felt her eyes go wide and her mouth drop open. What? What did he mean? He wanted to be called Chuck? She searched her mind, trying to come up with a reason for his request, but she was so thrown that her brain seemed to have short-circuited. She had no idea why he wanted to be called Chuck.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” he asked, his eyes flicking back and forth from her face to anywhere else in the room. “And I’ve totally ruined the mood, maybe the whole night, but--but I don’t really feel like Charles now. I actually never really felt like Charles, it always felt funny to introduce myself like that. And hearing you say Chuck, it sounds right. It sounds like my name, the name for the man I want to be now, and I know it must be strange for you, but . . . but could you call me Chuck from now on?” 

As he spoke, he had slowly locked his eyes on hers. And she couldn’t look away as he poured his heart out to her like that, with such sincerity and determination. He meant every word he was saying. He wanted to be more like Chuck--he had made his decision, had decided to stop hiding his nerdy side and become one man. At least, that was what she thought. And she didn’t know how she felt about that. 

Calling the man in front of her “Chuck” would be the last step in accepting that Chuck and Carmichael were one person. The last step to getting to know this man who was the complete package, both Chuck Bartowski and Charles Carmichael. But that didn’t mean he would be a spy version of Chuck. He wouldn’t be exactly like the Chuck she had known, or the Carmichael she had worked with. She would have to learn who he was, figure out the things he liked and didn’t like, his pet peeves and values and favorites. 

It would be hard. It would be slightly bittersweet. But it would be so good. She had met two different versions of him and both of them had been good men. But neither had been someone she would risk her heart for. But for this man, the one who had the best of both Chuck and Carmichael, she would make the leap. To have this man in her life, combining those elements from his two sides into one person that she wanted, she would risk it all. 

She wanted him. And it didn’t matter if his name was Chuck or Charles.

He had stayed silent while he waited for her response, his breathing slowly becoming normal again. But he sucked in a breath when she ran her hands up his arms to wrap around his neck. “Chuck, huh?” she said softly. “You’re the only Chuck I’ve ever met. It makes you special.” 

It took a moment for her words to sink in, and then the widest, whitest, toothiest smile she had ever seen blossomed on his face. He beamed at her, and it made her think of the Chuck she had used to know, but when he leaned in and kissed her slowly, his hands holding her so tightly, it was like being back in the Dominican Republic with Carmichael. 

But actually, it wasn’t like either of those things. It was brand-new, because she was getting kissed by Chuck Carmichael. 

And she really, really liked that. 

Giving in to her urge, she began playing with the curls on the back of his neck as they kept kissing. Unlike their frantic kisses outside the restaurant, these kisses were slow, almost languid. It was like they knew they had more than just tonight, without any discussion. 

Chuck’s hand slipped under her top and stroked along the base of her spine. She shivered, letting out a soft noise of pleasure against his lips. She could feel his lips quirk up in a smile. “Mmm, I like that,” he murmured softly. 

Her hands clenched in his hair. Cocky bastard, turning her to jelly and then rubbing it in. She felt her competitive fires--along with other fires--flare up. 

Sliding one hand from his hair, she dragged her fingers down his chest slowly. She looked up at him as she reached the bottom of his shirt and then ducked underneath his shirttail, stroking his belly. “And what do you like?” she asked, feeling his stomach muscles jump under her fingers. 

His eyes were tawny like a lion’s, all yellow-brown amber and full of heat. “You,” he said, his voice deep, before he yanked her against him and kissed her hard. Her hand, trapped between them, pressed against his skin as she kissed him back, as she got swept up in the movement of his lips and tongue. 

God, he was good at that. But she wanted more. 

Sarah moved her hand to his side and began pulling him with her towards the bed. With her left hand, she fumbled with his tie, not making much progress since she had to walk and kiss him at the same time. And when the back of her knees bumped against the bed, the stop was so sudden that she felt herself falling backwards--and pulling him down with her. 

With a rush of breath, he landed on top of her, pressing her down against the mattress. Both of them moaned softly at the full-body contact. Sarah pulled her lips away from his and focused on his tie. “Chuck . . .” she said, feeling like she was trying to untie the most complicated knot in existence. 

“Need some help?” he asked, his hands stroking her sides as he kissed her neck. 

“You--you--” she muttered, getting the tie loose enough to pull it over his head--which also gave her a momentary break from the way his lips felt against her neck. “You’re going to pay for this.” 

The grin he gave her was so amused and pleased, it should be illegal. “I’m gonna pay a lot, I think.” 

Huffing out a laugh, Sarah started unbuttoning his shirt. “Oh, yeah.” She wasn’t sure if she was responding to what he said or to just getting his shirt open and revealing his chest. She pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat as she kept unbuttoning and his hips jerked against hers. 

He pushed himself up and began working on the buttons of her own top, his face flushed and his hair disheveled. Sarah lifted herself closer to him, bracing herself on her hands as she kissed him slowly. Because he was gorgeous and she wanted to kiss him and this felt so good. 

As they undressed each other, Sarah wondered at the twists and turns that had brought them here. It almost felt like from the moment they met, they had been heading towards something like this. She had never believed in things like fate or destiny. Luck, yes. Instinct, of course. There were definitely things at work in the universe that you couldn’t see or touch, but they were there, impacting everyone’s lives. But the idea that two people were meant to be together, that they were bound by some invisible thread . . . she had never believed in anything like that. 

Not until now. Because how else could she explain having Chuck Carmichael kiss her stomach at this very moment? After everything they had gone through together?

There was no explanation. None except that this was meant to be. 

Sarah reached down and gently pulled Chuck up to kiss him. “I need you,” she whispered against his lips. And if her words meant more than just the sexual sense, it was something that he probably already knew. Since he was a genius and all that. 

“Me, too,” he said softly, nuzzling her. “Stay right there.” He pulled away and reached down to the floor, pulling his trousers up and coming up with a few condom packets.

“Someone was confident,” Sarah said, arching an eyebrow. She wanted to tease him, but also . . . she wanted to know what he had been thinking about this date. 

“Be prepared,” Chuck said, smiling sheepishly and almost shyly. “And . . . and I had this funny feeling that if I only had one, something would happen to it and then we’d be in trouble.” He tossed his pants back on the floor and leaned in to kiss her. 

She smiled as she kissed him back, running her hands over his shoulders. “A lot of trouble.”

He laughed softly and nuzzled her as he got ready. “And we’re not in a rush.” Chuck paused and looked at her, his expression a little bit nervous. “Right?”

The fact that he was nervous made Sarah want to hug him. And make love to him until his brains dribbled out of his ears. She gently squeezed his shoulders and nodded. “Right. No rush.” 

A soft smile flashed across his face before he kissed her slowly, settling his body on top of hers. And as he entered her, as they began moving together, Sarah found herself keeping her eyes open. Watching him as he watched her. So when they each fell apart, a few moments apart, they each knew. 

XXX

When Sarah woke up, it was to a hand gently stroking her back and warm breath stirring the hairs around her face. Blinking her eyes open, she came face-to-face with Chuck’s chest. She was lying on her side, one arm underneath her head and the other draped over his waist. He was in a similar position, although with his longer arms he was able to run his fingers along her spine. 

Waking up to him was very, very nice. If he had stayed after that night in the Dominican, who knew what might have happened then? But Sarah pushed aside the what-ifs and focused on the here-and-now. Because right now she was pretty happy.

“You seem obsessed with my back,” Sarah said softly, tilting her head back to look up at him. 

His hand stilled for a moment before resuming his exploration. “No more than any other part of you,” he said, giving her a lopsided smile. “And I like being different.” 

She wrinkled her nose a little and then propped her head up on her hand to get a better view of his face. “I know that you’re different, but what does that mean?” 

Chuck shifted, lifting himself up slightly on one arm. “You’re beautiful. And it’d be easy to just focus on your face or your legs or . . . other obvious places. So I wanted to give a little love to your back, your wrists--really anyplace that might not get a lot of attention.” 

The only explanation for feeling tears prick her eyes was all the emotional upheaval of the last twelve hours--of these last two weeks. Because she wasn’t the type to be that affected by compliments. She had heard men offer up reams of praise for her beauty and appearance. But something about Chuck’s simple words of admiration made her insides feel all fluttery. Because . . . because no one had ever thought to lavish attention on her back. 

And that definitely deserved a long, slow kiss. So she leaned in to give him just that, letting her own hand stroke his hip. 

He let out a soft “mmmmm” as the kiss ended, his hand stilling on her back and holding her close. Not that she was going to go anywhere. “That’s some thank you,” he said, his voice lazy and full of contentment. 

Pressing kisses along his collarbone and feeling him suck in a breath, Sarah gave him a saucy smile. “There’s more where that came from, too.” 

But as she shifted to kiss a bit lower on his chest, Chuck ran his fingers along her jaw. “Sarah? I--I kinda want to talk to you.” 

Sarah paused and looked up at him. It would have been easy for him to let her keep going. To put off talking. Hell, that was certainly the thought in the back of her mind as she had begun kissing his chest. But he was right . . . there were things they needed to talk about. Things that she wanted to share with him. 

“Okay,” she said softly, pulling away from him. This seemed like a conversation that needed clothes in order to happen, so she rolled over and reached down to the floor, coming up with her panties, his boxer briefs, and his shirt. She tossed him his underwear and then stood up to pull on her panties. 

When she turned around, buttoning up a few of the buttons on his shirt, she stopped when she realized he was still holding his boxers, looking at her with a slightly dazed expression. “What?” she asked. 

“Nothing!” he said quickly, turning and standing up on the other side of the bed, yanking on his boxers. He stood with his back to her for a moment, letting her take in the long lines of his frame, before turning around to face her. And the view from the front was even better, she thought. 

“Sarah?” 

Her eyes leaped to meet his, which were sparkling with amusement. “Uh-huh, my eyes are up here,” he said, gesturing to his face. 

Rolling her eyes, she turned and walked over to the mini-fridge, pulling out two bottles of water. She tossed one of the bottles to him as she came back to the bed and sat Indian-style in the middle of the rumpled covers. “Sue me for looking. Because other than you, I’ve been in a dry spell for quite a while.” 

He looked at her curiously as he twisted the cap off his bottle of water. “Are we already doing the exes conversation?” 

She paused and finished the sip of water she had taken when he asked his question. Because she could brush him off. Keep this light. But . . . but that wasn’t what she wanted. At least, she wanted to get things clear between them, even if she felt her stomach tighten at the thought of putting her feelings into words. She wasn’t good at that. 

But . . . but now it was out there, and she knew that lesser problems had derailed relationships. So why not just rip the bandage off, especially since she had started it? 

Carefully capping her bottle of water, she looked at him. “I’m pretty sure agency gossip has spread the word about me and my old partner.”

“Larkin, right?” At her nod, Chuck’s lips twisted a bit into a half-frown. “I did some training with him. He’s not bad.” 

The grudging tone to his voice made Sarah smile a little. He almost sounded jealous, which was pretty adorable, given the situation. Since it wasn’t Bryce sitting in her hotel room while she wore his shirt. 

“He mentioned that when he worked with us,” Sarah said lightly, remembering Bryce’s words at Thanksgiving. In truth, there sounded like there was an untold story about Bryce and Chuck, but she didn’t want to go off on that tangent right now.

“Yeah, I read the report about that mission,” Chuck said, peeling the label off his water bottle. 

Sarah rested a hand on his knee. “It’s too bad I couldn’t give the full story in my report. About how he really wanted to get back together but I turned him down.” 

The label fell from his fingers as he looked at her. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Sarah said. “He took off on a solo, deep-cover assignment without talking to me first. And then gave me a half-assed apology afterwards. The trust was gone, even if we’re just talking about us as partners. And it certainly was gone when it came to anything else, so . . .” Sarah shrugged her shoulders and sipped her water, looking at him as her words sunk in. 

“Good to know. Not that I can come up with any reason why I’d want to do something so dumb as that,” Chuck said, settling his hand over hers on his knee. “Leaving you without saying goodbye, I mean.” 

“Unlike what happened the last time we slept together?” The words were out of her mouth before she had even realized it. Sarah looked away, swallowing a little. It had been a long time since she had let herself think about that morning. Of waking up and discovering she was all alone . . . It would appear that she had buried her feelings about that, and now they had come out unexpectedly.

She could feel him tense up underneath her hand. “Sarah . . .” 

“I know, I know--you left a note,” she said. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair of me to say--” 

His fingers took her chin and lifted her face. “That note was a stupid idea. Leaving you was an even stupider one. Because I didn’t want to. It was the last thing I wanted. But . . . but I was different back then, and you were making me feel things I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager. I freaked out because I thought I only knew how to be Charles Carmichael and you made me feel like Chuck.” 

It took a moment for her to grasp what he was saying. “You--you were already feeling like that when we met?”

If he had already been struggling to resolve the Charles vs. Chuck dichotomy inside himself, even before they met . . . it made her wonder about this last year and a half. Changed her role in all this. Made her feel those last lingering nerves, the ones she hadn’t even really realized she had, start to dissipate. Because this change wasn’t about her at all--it was all about him. He wasn’t changing in order to be more like the Chuck she had met, he was changing to be more like the real version of himself. 

Chuck nodded, softly stroking her cheek. “I was starting to feel . . . dissatisfied. I had this feeling that there had to be something more. And then I met you and the feeling got bigger. So when I found out about the Intersect and came up with the idea for Operation Bartowski . . .” He let his voice trail off. 

Shifting the hand that was under his, Sarah wrapped her fingers around his hand. “That’s good to know,” she said softly, repeating his words from before. “Because I was curious about . . . about what happened.” 

“That’s the Cliff Notes version,” he said, playing with her fingers a little. “I’ll give you the full story another time. When I don’t have a bunch of questions to ask you.” 

“Like what?” she asked, gazing at him and feeling equal parts scared and elated. Because when she had asked him out yesterday, she had no idea that they could end up like this so fast. Yeah, she had hoped the date would go well, but this well? No. And after so many months of thinking and worrying and feeling unsure, this felt . . . easy. Simple. Certain. 

And that scared her a little. Because nothing was really this effortless, right? 

He cleared his throat. “What . . . what did you think of Chuck? I mean, what did you think of the guy you worked with on Operation Bartowski?”

Well, he certainly wasn’t beating around the bush, Sarah thought as her throat tightened. But then, what else would she expect from him? Of course he would want to know--both as a man and as an incredibly observant CIA agent. And it seemed like he really needed to know as much as he could about how she felt about the man she had worked with for a year. 

“I told you we were friends,” Sarah said, gathering her thoughts. “And we were. But . . . but I knew he had feelings for me. I wouldn’t let anything happen, though--and not just because of the rules,” she hurried to explain. “Yeah, it would have gone against asset-handler relationship guidelines, but it was more than that.”

“Was it because you knew what would happen at the end of Operation Bartowski?” Chuck asked, gently squeezing her hand. 

“A little,” she said. “Because it wouldn’t be fair to me or him or you if something had happened under those conditions. But most of all--he wasn’t right for me.” 

His forehead wrinkled. “What?” 

Sarah could guess how confusing that must be to him. “That Chuck was a really nice guy,” she said, trying to find the right words. “But . . . but he wanted different things than I did. He couldn’t understand what it meant to be a spy. The sacrifices you have to make, the compromises you have to live with. I--I didn’t want to be with someone that I couldn’t be myself with.” She managed to give him a small smile, even as she felt clumsy and insecure. “It was hard enough figuring out who I am. I couldn’t be Sarah without being Agent Walker, too--although I want to be just Sarah sometimes, you know? And even though he was the one who helped me see that . . . he still wasn’t the right Chuck.” 

As she spoke, his hand gripped hers tighter and tighter. His hold helped to keep her focused. Helped her give him the full truth, even though it made her vulnerable. Opened her up to her feelings in a way she had never been before. Talking like this was even more intimate than sex, because that was just about her body. This . . . this was about her mind and her heart, and she wasn’t sure if she had ever shared those with anyone. Not like this. 

Chuck hadn’t said anything and he was still holding her hand tightly. She made a fist of the hand he was squeezing so she could break his hold. That made him blink and let go. “Sorry!” he said quickly, pulling his hand away. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she said, gazing at him. “So--so does that answer your question?”

She hoped it did. She hoped he understood that she wasn’t pursuing him in order to satisfy her what-ifs. Or that she wanted him to be anything other than who he was, or at least who he was trying to be. And that was Chuck Carmichael, CIA agent who liked nerdy things. 

Other than a slow nod, Chuck didn’t give her any more answer to her question. He looked lost in thought, his lips pursed and his forehead wrinkled. Sarah drank a little more of her water until both the silence and the out-and-out appeal of a thoughtful Chuck made her speak. Made her ask the question she had been thinking about for a very long time. “Chuck? What do you like to do?”

“Huh?” he said, looking a bit startled. “What was that?”

His confusion was just as appealing as his thoughtfulness. Sarah smiled at him, even as she fidgeted a little with her water bottle. “What do you like to do? When you’re not working, I mean. Because I don’t know.” 

He looked at her for a long moment, then shook his head out. “Sorry. You want to know what I do for fun?” 

“Yeah,” Sarah said, her curiosity rising at his reaction. “I mean, I’m not really one to talk when it comes to being more than a spy, but . . . but I like shopping. And I like movies. What--what about you?” 

This was harder than she had expected. She felt a stab of worry. Was this already turning into a repeat of her relationship with Bryce? Two spies who didn’t have anything to talk about? They had been able to have such good conversations during their dinner dates . . . why wasn’t it working so well now? 

Was it the sex? Did that screw everything up? Should they have waited? Or maybe . . . maybe it was because they hadn’t really talked about what they were doing here. That could be it. Maybe. She didn’t know. 

Shifting on the bed, Sarah thought about making a run for the bathroom. Giving herself a moment to regroup. She had just started to slide to the side of the bed and leave the room when Chuck reached out and grabbed her hand. 

“I’m sorry. I just--I was really thrown for a minute and . . . and I’m not used to anyone asking me questions about me.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “The Carmichael reputation, you know. Everyone thinks they know me. So they don’t really ask anything.” 

“Even when we first met, I didn’t think that. I didn’t know you,” Sarah said. “And now . . .” 

“Now--now that we . . .?” Chuck let his voice trail off, his voice uncertain. Then he shook his head. “This is stupid. This tip-toeing around. I know what I want and--and I think you want the same thing I want.” 

Her heart seemed to have moved into her throat at his words. Through the lump, she managed to say, “What do you want, Chuck?”

He gazed at her for what felt like an eternity. “You, Sarah. And more of this. Not--not just this,” he said, gesturing towards the rumpled bedsheets and his shirt that she was still wearing. “But . . . but this,” he said, lifting their joined hands. “It’d be crazy with the way our jobs are, and I’ve never had any luck with relationships, but I want to try with you. I want this.” 

God, he was . . . how could she have thought this was turning into the same kind of relationship like she had with Bryce? In just a handful of words, he had staked more of a claim to her--and stated more about what he wanted--than Bryce ever had. And more than that, she had asked him what he wanted. She had felt certain enough that they were on the same page that she asked him to confirm it, instead of leaving everything up in the air so she could wiggle away whenever things got too serious.

She was ready for serious. 

Taking a deep breath, Sarah nodded. “I--I want that, too.” She felt her cheeks going pink. “That’s why I asked you about what you like to do. Why I asked you out in the first place. Because I knew what I wanted. More than just one night.” 

“Is that so?” he asked, smiling widely at her as he tugged on her hand. 

With a smile, she let him pull her into his arms. “Yeah,” she said softly, stroking his shoulders slowly and taking in the texture of his skin. “I spent a lot of time thinking it over before I realized I was ready to leap.” 

“No more ‘the simple plan is the better plan’?” Chuck brushed his nose against hers, his breath washing over her lips. 

“Maybe,” she said with a small smirk. “What about you? Did you plan out every step of what’s happened since I arrived in California?” 

Chuck let out a soft laugh. “Not exactly. I tried at first, but then I realized you kept surprising me and it was easier--and more fun--to just follow your lead.” He began pressing soft kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “And I liked having you in control.” 

The things he was doing to her neck were so good, she nearly lost the thread of the conversation. So he liked being in the passenger seat? Good. She would give him what he wanted. 

Sarah leaned forward, pushing against his shoulders and sending him down to the bed. “Yeah?” she asked, hovering over him on her hands and knees. “You want me to be in control?” 

His Adam’s apple worked as he swallowed, then he nodded, settling his hands on her hips. “Yes. Yes, I would like to see that.” 

This was going to be fun, Sarah thought as she smiled at him. Fun and hopefully the best sexual experience of his life. “Then keep your eyes open, Chuck,” she said softly as she leaned in to kiss him slowly. 

And as she kissed and touched him, as she ran her hands over his body and they lost what little clothing they were wearing, as she took him as deep as she could, she was very pleased that he did keep his eyes open. So she made sure to give him even more of a reward for that. 

XXX

The bright yellow light of the rising sun pierced her eyelids and made Sarah wake up. She squinted and then rolled over, her body naturally knowing where Chuck’s was in the bed and drawing her towards him. It was magnetic, the pull he had over her. 

Magnetic and quickly becoming impossible to resist. 

With her face tucked in against his chest, she felt surrounded by warmth and the last lingering vestige of Chuck’s own fragrance. She took a small sniff, resolving that at the first opportunity she was going to find out just how he smelled so good. 

“Are you smelling me?” 

Chuck’s voice was soft, lazy, and amused. She hadn’t realized he was awake, but she didn’t mind. Lifting her head a little, she smiled up at him. “Yes, I am. Good morning.” 

“Good morning to you, too,” he said, brushing a soft kiss over her lips. “And why are you smelling me?” 

“Because you smell good, of course,” she said, giving him a mock eyeroll. 

He laughed. “Duh, of course,” he said, matching her eyeroll with one of his own. 

Sarah couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, wow. Are you really a teenage girl? Chuck Carmichael, master of disguise.” 

“I think it’s been pretty conclusively proven that I am not a girl in any way,” Chuck smirked, pressing his hips against hers a little. “Just like you are not a girl, but a woman.” 

“Good thing you added on that compliment,” Sarah remarked, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. “Or else I would have had a real sarcastic comeback for you. Or a knife.”

“And just where are you hiding a knife, Agent Walker?” he said, running a hand down her side.

Oh, that was too good of an opening to pass up. Especially since there was something they had done their first time together that hadn’t happened yet. Something she had been dreaming of ever since then. She kicked off the sheet and rolled onto her back, lifting her arms over her head and arching her back a little. “You wanna search me and find out?” 

“Thought you’d never ask,” Chuck said, leaning over and kissing her neck. “Although if I don’t find one, I’ll . . . I’ll be very disappointed.”

“Chuck, if you don’t do that little something you like to do, I will definitely find a knife.” 

His head jerked up from her neck to lock eyes with her. Sarah held his gaze, then lifted an eyebrow. “Well?” 

“Oh. Right. Yes.” He laughed a little. “This is you in control.” 

“Only for a little while,” she said, her voice escaping her lips in a rush as he began peppering kisses over her shoulders and neck and upper chest. 

“Mmmmm,” he murmured in agreement, his tongue sliding over her skin. Sarah moaned and closed her eyes. 

God, she’d never had anything like this. She almost felt drunk on her emotions. Because it was one thing to discover that the night in the Dominican Republic wasn’t a one-off or an outlier. To find out that the sexual chemistry between them was just as hot, just as amazing, the second time around. But the jokes, the banter . . . that was new for her. New and intoxicating. 

Add in the fact that he wanted something real with her and she wanted that, too, in spite of never wanting that with anyone else and the still-somewhat-unresolved fear that realization had created . . . it was no wonder that every touch and kiss felt amplified. More powerful than just the physical impact. She felt like he could just look at her and she would get hot. If he whispered sweet nothings in her ear, she just might climax. 

Although she could be feeling like that at the moment because of what his tongue was doing to her. 

Sarah gasped as he settled between her legs and began proving once again just how good he was at that something he liked to do. She gripped the pillow underneath her head, letting him carry her towards ecstasy, fighting to prolong it before what he was doing became too much and she just had to let go. And as she fell, she could feel him crawling up her body and wrapping her in his arms. 

It should make her feel scared to death that being in his arms made her feel safe. Safe for the first time in forever. And it did, a little. But the fear was worth it. 

As she slowly came back to herself, she could feel him running his hands over her. She shivered a little, feeling overstimulated, and he stopped his hands, bringing them to rest on her lower back. “Okay, Sarah?” 

Nodding, she looked up at him. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Nice job, by the way.” 

He snorted softly but grinned at her. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome,” she said, stretching her legs out and inching her feet under the covers. Her feet always got cold in bed, but her toes felt like little ice cubes right now. 

“So, no knife,” he said, giving her a lopsided smile. “But I’ll keep looking and I’m sure I’ll find it someday.” 

She giggled softly. “You’re very thorough.” 

“Yep,” he said, leaning in to press a soft kiss against her lips. “I’m also hungry. You wanna go get breakfast? We can figure out what we’re going to do today while we eat.” 

“You mean other than come back here and pick up where we left off?” 

Chuck flushed and looked at her. 

“What? Too much too soon?” she asked, feeling worried. 

“No. Well, yes, but--that just made me realize that you sent your report to Graham.” Chuck’s voice was tentative. “Doesn’t that mean you should be moving on to your next assignment?” 

Oh. That. 

He was right: with the submission of her final report, and Graham’s call to Chuck informing him of that submission, she should be moving on. Finding a new assignment, getting ready to fly to a different part of the world, someplace that had a revolution to quash or an insurrection to mount. 

Someplace that wasn’t here. 

Swallowing, Sarah told herself she should move away from him, but she found that her body didn’t want to listen to her head. “Yes . . . yes, that’s true,” she said quietly, lifting her head a little but keeping her eyes on his chin. Not wanting to look him in the eyes and see if he was sad about her leaving . . . or if he might be a little bit relieved. 

“Hey,” he said, cupping her face in his hand. “It’s the job. For now, I’m here and you’re going to be moving around. It’s okay, Sarah.” 

Damn it, he would be sweet about this. When she was busy feeling guilty and wishing there was some way she could at least stay a little while--

Her eyes widened and she looked up at him. “Did you know that Graham wanted me to join your team?” 

He blinked. “What?” 

Sarah sat up, pushing some of her hair out of her face. “Right as Operation Bartowski was wrapping up and they were getting ready to take the Intersect out, Graham told me about the team they were putting together for you and asked me to join it. And I turned him down because I was too confused about how I felt about you and Chuck and all of this. But what if I told him I changed my mind?” 

Even as she spoke, she was pretty sure she was making a mistake. Talk about too much, too soon. If she joined his team, not only could she upset the balance of the group, but she’d be making a definite commitment to him. If things didn’t work out, it’d be hard to get off the team after needing to beg Graham to let her work with Chuck--because due to her earlier refusal to join the team, she’d have to call in a favor or two to get Graham to let her work with Chuck now. And if it all backfired, if things went south personally or professionally between them, it would make her life and Chuck’s very, very difficult.

But what if it didn’t happen like that? What if for once it all went right? If working with Chuck and then coming back to her hotel room or going to his place was everything she hoped it might be? It could be the most amazing, fulfilling, perfect life ever. She could have it all . . . and she had taken the risk without even thinking about it.

Would Chuck be willing to do the same? 

He hadn’t said anything yet. He hadn’t even really moved, his head bent slightly so she couldn’t see his face. Was he trying to figure out a way to let her down easily? Maybe he wanted more time for them to adjust to this new relationship. Maybe he wasn’t ready to jump right in with both feet. In fact, she wasn’t sure she was, either. But she knew she wanted him in her life and she was willing to deal with the growing pains that would come from this change. That is, if he wanted to be all-in, too. 

She licked her lips. “Chuck?” she said softly. 

Slowly, he lifted his head. And she felt her heart beat faster when she saw the smile on his face. “You’d really do that?” he asked, rising up on his knees and moving towards her. “You’d tell Graham you changed your mind and you want on the team?”

“I’ll try . . . he might say no,” she said, hearing how giddy her voice sounded. Because he definitely seemed okay with her idea. 

“I doubt that,” Chuck said, wrapping his arms around her. “You’re very persuasive.” 

“Convincing you and convincing my boss are two very different things.” Sarah almost giggled at the look on his face. 

“I hope so,” he said, smiling at her before resting his forehead against hers. His voice was softer when he spoke again. “You’re sure? You’re not confused anymore? About me?” 

Gazing at him for a long moment, Sarah took him in. Took in this complex, complicated man who had so many different sides to himself: a confident genius and a shy nerd, a talented spy and a good man. It wasn’t hard to answer his question. 

“I’m only confused by why it took me so long to see you.” 

Chuck smiled at her. Not the big, beaming smile she was already grown addicted to. But a softer, more intimate one--a smile that spoke of utter contentment. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she said, kissing him softly. 

His lips pressed against hers sweetly, then he said softly, “Guess we know who’s the smart one in this relationship--I knew as soon as I met you that you were perfect.” 

Even with his compliment, she couldn’t let that stand. She pulled back, her mouth rounded in an O of surprise. “Oh, you’re gonna get it now,” she said, pushing him back on the bed.

The smirk he gave her said that had been his intention. She was just leaning in to show him how dangerous it was to taunt her like that when the tinny sound of a cell phone ringtone filled the room. 

Sarah frowned and looked at him. “Yours?”

With a long exhale, he nodded, momentarily closing his eyes. “Yeah. Mine.” 

They both moved, Sarah regretfully climbing off him and sitting on the bed as he got up and picked up his trousers. He pulled his cell phone out of a pocket and pressed a button on the screen. “Carmichael.” 

As he listened, Sarah watched him, feeling herself relax. They were together now. She was going to get on his team. And they were going to keep working together, keep discovering each other. 

There was bound to be misunderstandings and problems and bad times. But to feel like she did now, to feel this sense of happiness and purpose and hope for the future . . . she’d risk a lot more to have that. 

“So we need to move against that Ring cell if we want to find out what their plan is.” 

She lifted her eyes to his face, realizing he was looking right at her, one corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. There was a question in his eyes, one that she answered with a small nod and a smile of her own. 

“Call everyone and get them to the base,” Chuck said as she got up from the bed and walked towards him. “We’ll meet in an hour.”

Once he hung up the phone, Sarah leaned up and kissed him. “Mission?” she asked.

“Mission,” he said in agreement, reaching down to pick up his clothes. 

Sarah began gathering some clean clothes for herself as well before heading to the bathroom to wash up, calling out for Chuck to join her because she had a spare toothbrush. 

And as they stood in her bathroom, brushing their teeth and bouncing ideas off each other for the job, Sarah couldn’t help smiling.

Because that little voice inside her was practically singing. Because she had everything she wanted. Because her life had changed in a million different ways since the day she had found out that Bryce had left her behind. 

All because of Chuck. 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was a fitting conclusion to this story. I know that even with **A Flip of the Coin** , there’s some issues that are left unresolved, things you might be curious about. I don’t have any plans to revisit this universe, but you never know how the muse will move me. That’s why I worked hard to have this chapter give you a good feeling at the end. 
> 
> This story came to me in a totally unexpected way and I had a blast writing it. Thank you for coming along with me on Sarah’s journey!


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